


Crossed Paths

by Spiderlass



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And Bilbo is trying to be polite, Architect Thorin, Bofur plays matchmaker, Dis is far too amused by it all, Falling In Love, Fili is convinced that Smaug is a dragon, Fluff, Frodo thinks he's nuts, Gandalf is best teacher, Human Smaug, In which Thorin is an ass to the guy he has a huge crush on, Kid Fic, Kid Fili, Kid Frodo, Kid Sam, M/M, Writer Bilbo, but cool, but he is getting tired of Thorin's shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 00:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1878522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiderlass/pseuds/Spiderlass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins is a slightly-famous adventure novelist whose biggest adventure was the time he got lost on the Metro in Paris. Currently, he’s trying to figure out how to care for his six-year-old nephew. The very handsome, very rude architect from the North isn’t helping. Modern!AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Morning Routines

"Frodo!" Bilbo called up the stairs of his modest-sized flat. "Frodo, breakfast! Time to come down!"

When the elder Baggins received no response, he sighed.

"Frodo Baggins, if I have to march up that staircase one more time-!"

From upstairs, he heard a door swing open.

""M coming!" The six-year-old called as he bounced down the stairs, his grey blazer only halfway on and his blue-and-yellow-striped tie messily knotted around his unbuttoned collar. His socks were uneven, not to mention the fact that they were mismatched. His hair, as usual, was a curly mess.

Bilbo frowned, staring as his nephew ran into the kitchen.

"Did you just wake up?"

"Uh, no! No, I’ve-!" Frodo yawned as he grabbed a bit of the toast Bilbo had prepared. "I’ve been up for hours."

His uncle rolled his eyes, grabbing him gently by the collar of his shirt to stop him.

"Alright, alright, let’s just hold on for a moment! It’s your first day back at school, you at least need to look presentable."

Frodo rolled his eyes and groaned in irritation as Bilbo straightened his collar.

"Uncle Biiilllbbooooo," he whined. "We’re going to be _late_!”

"No, we’re not! You don’t need to be there for another half an hour."

Frodo stared at him for a moment before throwing his hands up in frustration.

"Well then what did you wake me up for?!"

* * *

  
"You have your books?"

"Yes."

"Your lunch."

“ _Yes_."

"Your pencils?"

“ _Yes_ , Uncle Bilbo!”

The elder Baggins chuckled as they stepped off the bus at the stop nearest to Frodo’s school.

"Alright, just checking!"

Frodo scoffed, but sure enough Bilbo soon felt a smaller hand slip into his. He smiled, gently holding his nephew’s hand as they moved into the crowd of schoolchildren and parents, watching as they passed the sign for Rivendell Academy and walked towards the entrance.

Even though Frodo was putting on an indifferent act, Bilbo could tell that he was nervous. Honestly, the man couldn’t blame him, with everything that had happened at the end of the last term.

"Ah, young Mr. Baggins, good morning!"

"Oh!" Frodo yelled, suddenly dragging Bilbo over to a young, dark-haired woman. "Good morning, Mrs. Elessar!"

The woman smiled, kneeling down to the six-year-old’s eye level.

"It’s good to see you again, Frodo! I missed having you in my class at the end of the last term!"

The boy’s face lit up. “Will you be my teacher this year as well?!”

"No, I’m afraid that I only teach the first years." Mrs. Elessar said sadly.

Frodo seemed to deflate a bit at this news. “Oh.”

"But, on the bright side, I know for a fact that you’ll be in Mr. Grey’s class!"

The younger Baggins’ eyes widened. “The science man?! The one who does a mini-fireworks display at the end of the first term?!”

"The very one!"

"… I think I might like to meet this teacher of yours, Frodo."

Mrs. Elessar laughed. “Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Baggins, Gandalf is nothing if not careful with his pyrotechnics!”

She stood, smoothing out her skirt and then offering her hand to Bilbo.

"Arwen Elessar."

"Ah, Bilbo Baggins!" He replied, shaking the teacher’s hand.

"Yes, I know. It’s not everyday that we get a world-famous novelist in our humble little school!"

"O-Oh, I wouldn’t say _world_ -famous-!”

"No need to be humble, Mr. Baggins! And besides, with the way this one would brag about his Uncle Bilbo, you’d think you were J.K. Rowling!"

Bilbo paused, grinning as he looked down at his nephew, who seemed to have suddenly developed a fascination with the dirt by his shoes.

"Oh, really?" Bilbo said with a chuckle. "Well, try not to brag on me _too_ much, alright? Wouldn’t want Mr. Grey and your classmates to get the wrong idea.”

He ruffled his nephew’s hair, and a soft chuckle came out of the boy. Bilbo smiled.

"Alright, then, Frodo. I have to get going, so-!"

Frodo suddenly grabbed Bilbo around the waist, hugging him tightly.

"Oh!" Bilbo exclaimed in surprise as his nephew clutched at the back of his jumper. Frodo’s head rested on his belly, and for a moment the boy was entirely silent, simply holding on to the elder Baggins, as if he were afraid that he would disappear if he let go.

"… Frodo," Bilbo said gently after a moment. "Frodo, I have to go to the store, and you have to go to school. Besides, _you_ were the one who said we ran out of milk, and-!”

"Promise you’ll come back?"

Bilbo froze when he heard his nephew’s muffled voice, realizing what Frodo was worried about. He sighed, pushing him away and kneeling down. He smiled warmly at his nephew, putting his hands on the boy’s shoulders.

"I swear, on my honor as a Baggins, that I will be right here when school lets out, waiting for you. Alright?"

After a moment, the six-year-old nodded, moving in to hug his uncle one last time.

"I love you, Uncle Bilbo."

Bilbo smiled, pressing a quick kiss into his nephew’s dark curly hair. “I love you too, Frodo.”

"I bet that I love you more!" Frodo boasted as he pulled back.

Bilbo laughed, flicking his nephew’s nose. “Is that right?”

"Yeah!"

"Yeah? Well, I bet that _I_ love you _most_!”

The boy giggled. “I bet that I love you to the moon and back!”

"And I bet that I love you to Jupiter and back!"

"I bet that I-!"

"Frodo!" A familiar voice called, making Frodo stop talking and swerve his head over.

"Sam!" He cried happily, starting to run over to his friend, but pausing for a moment. He looked back at his uncle, his eyes large and pleading.

"Can I-?"

Bilbo rolled his eyes, gesturing towards Samwise Gamgee, who was looking back at his mother, probably asking the same question. “Go ahead.”

Frodo grinned. “Okay love you bye!” He said quickly, dashing towards his friend, who was doing the same.

"SAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMM!"

"FROOOOODOOOOOOOO!"

There was a great thud as the two collided in a hug, Frodo ending up on top of Sam as they fell to the ground in a fit of giggles.

"You’d think they hadn’t seen each other in months, instead of just a day or two."

Arwen laughed, watching the two boys chattering excitedly. “Well, they are rather inseperable. Last year I had gotten so used to saying ‘Frodo and Sam’ that I had to remind myself to only say ‘Sam’ at the end of the term.”

Bilbo chuckled. “They do seem to be one single entity sometimes.”

Arwen hesitated for a moment. “I… I was sorry to hear about Frodo’s parents.”

The writer said nothing for a moment. “Yeah, it… It was a very hard time for all of us. Still is, sometimes.”

And it was, especially for Frodo. There were still nights when the boy would wake up crying, asking Bilbo to go get his mother. Every time, Bilbo’s heart would break when he told him that he couldn’t, and he’d remember that his parents were gone.

"I think it’s wonderful that you’ve taken him in like this."

"Oh, well, Drogo and I were always close. Hadn’t imagined that they were _serious_ when they said they wanted to have me look after Frodo if something were to happen, but it’s all well and good, I suppose.”

In his defense, Frodo was a colicky baby, the two of them were very sleep deprived, and he was the first person to get Frodo to sleep in two days when they said it.

Arwen chuckled, looking over and seeing the clock. “I suppose so! Well, it was lovely to meet you, Mr. Baggins!”

"You too, Mrs. Elessar!" Bilbo called as they parted, heading towards the gates while she headed for the front door. Suddenly, something ran into his legs, halting him in his tracks.

"Sorry, Mister!" A young voice with a distinctly northern accent apologized.

Bilbo looked down, examining the small child who had run into him. He looked to be around the same age as Frodo, perhaps a bit older, and had shaggy blond hair that could use a cut. His blazer was a bit wrinkled, and his pants appeared to be just a bit too short for him.

"Ah, it’s quite alright, my boy. Try not to run into anyone else, yeah-?"

"Fili!" A woman with the same sort of accent as the boy yelled, running through the crowd. She had dark hair pulled into a messy bun, with only the barest traces of eye makeup on, wearing a simple white shirt and jeans. She was pushing a buggy along, where a brunet baby boy who couldn’t be more than a year old was gurgling happily in a pair of overalls.

"Mum-!"

"Fili Durinson, do _not_ run around in a crowd like this! You could get hurt!”

"But _Mum_ , I-!”

"No buts, mister!"

The boy rolled his eyes. “I bet Uncle Frerin would let me run around if I wanted to!”

"Yeah, and I’d smack him silly fer lettin’ ya!"

For the first time, the woman looked up, and Bilbo saw the dark circles under her eyes and the premature streaks of grey in her hair.

"I’m so sorry about this, sir!" She glared at her son. "Fili, say you’re sorry!"

"I did!"

"Well say it again!"

Fili grimaced. “ _Kili_ never has to say he’s sorry twice!”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Fili, your brother is barely a year old, the only things he _can_ say are ‘mama’, ‘no’, and ‘kitty’!”

The baby in the buggy suddenly sat up. “Kitty?” He asked, looking around as if searching for something.

"No, baby love, there aren’t any kitties ‘round here."

"Really, ma’am, it’s fine." Bilbo quickly said when there was a pause in the bickering. "I don’t mind at all, Mrs….?"

"Durinson!" She quickly replied, walking around the buggy and extending her hand. "Dis… Durinson…" She trailed off, her eyes going wide when Bilbo took her hand and shook it.

"Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Durinson. I’m-!"

"You’re Bilbo Baggins!" She interrupted, her eyes shining with glee. "I knew I recognized ya from somewhere! Oh, and it’s just Ms. Durinson, dear, but I’d prefer it if ya just called me Dis."

Bilbo smiled patiently. “Alright then, Dis. Are you a fan, then?”

"Ah, well, yeah, but it’s really my brother who’s the big fan!"

"The, uh, one who apparently would let your son run wild?"

"Hm? Oh! No, no, not Frerin, my _other_ brother, Thorin!”

"Ah," Bilbo replied, imagining a college-aged guy, seeing as that was who his books seemed to appeal to most.

Fili groaned, tugging at his mother’s sleeve.

"Muuuuuuuu _uuummm_ ," he whined. "Come on! I’m gonna be late!"

Dis rolled her eyes. “Alright, alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist!” She smiled at Bilbo warmly. “It was very nice to meet ya, Mr. Baggins.”

"And you as well, Dis. And please, feel free to call me Bilbo!"

The woman smiled brightly once more before turning and yelling at Fili to stop running.

* * *

  
"He’s late."

Frodo rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time that morning. “Yes, _thank you_ , Merry, for telling us what we already knew.”

Next to his cousin, Pippin giggled, which earned him a smack upside the head.

"Ow!"

"Shut up, Pippin."

"You shut up!"

"No, you shut up!"

"GUYS!" Sam finally shouted, turning in his seat to glare at them. "Why don’t _both_ of you shut up? The teacher could be here any minute, and you don’t want him to see you fighting the first time he meets you, do you?”

"Oh, please, Gamgee! He’s not gonna show!"

"Yeah!" Pippin added. "My sister Pearl said that he didn’t show up to the first day of class when she had him!"

"She also told you that if you ate a watermelon seed, one would grow in your stomach and burst out of your gut." Frodo reminded him.

Pippin narrowed his eyes. “Are you calling my sister a _liar_?”

Before Frodo could answer, the door to the classroom swung open, a tall, older man with a cardboard box in his arms walking through the door.

"Good morning, sir!" Frodo greeted as the class settled.

The old man paused, placing his box on the desk and staring right at Frodo.

"What do you mean? Do you mean to wish me a good morning, or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I wish it to be or not? Or perhaps you are stating that you feel good on this particular morning. Or are you simply saying that it is a morning to be good on?"

It felt like every eye in the classroom was on Frodo. He swallowed hard, shrinking into his desk as he felt his ears turn red.

"I… I, um… All of them at once, I suppose."

The man stared at him for another moment. “Hmm.” He murmured simply before turning to the blackboard and picking up the chalk, seemingly deaf to the children chatting and giggling behind him and Frodo’s humiliation.

The chalk made small squeaks and groans as the teacher wrote the words _Gandalf Grey_ on the board.

"Now, since I assume that the majority of you are decently literate, I don’t suppose I need to tell you my name." At the class’ silence, he moved on. "However, since I don’t know your names yet, I shall have you tell me your name, your day of birth- your birthday, as it is more commonly refered to, put down your hands- and one interesting fact about yourself. We shall start with… Oh, how about our young greeter here?"

Frodo smiled. _This should be easy enough,_ he thought as he stood up.

"My name is Frodo Baggins, my birthday is the fourteenth of September, and my Uncle Bilbo is a famous writer!"

The boy beamed as his classmates around started talking excitedly.

"Yes, I figured as much. However, Mr. Baggins, I’m afraid that, while it is _indeed_ an interesting fact, it is _not_ , in fact, about _you_.”

Frodo’s face dropped. “What? What do you mean?”

"Just what I said, Mr. Baggins. _You_ are not the writer, your _uncle_ is. So I’m afraid that I’ll have to ask that you say something else.”

The boy swallowed, racking his brain for something, _anything_ interesting about himself.

"I… I, um…"

His mind was blank. What was interesting about Frodo Baggins? He liked sweets? He could count to fifty? He-

"Mr. Baggins?" Mr. Grey interrupted. "If you cannot think of anything at this moment, we can always come back to you-!"

"I’m an orphan."

The class was silent for a tense moment.

"Come again?" Mr. Grey asked, seeming to think he hadn’t heard right.

Frodo took a deep breath. “I’m… I’m an orphan. That’s what my cousin Lobelia Sackville-Baggins said, and when I asked Uncle Bilbo what it meant, he told me that an orphan is someone who hasn’t got a mum or dad. And…” He hesitated. “And, well, I don’t. So… So there. That’s… That’s something interesting about me.”

With that, Frodo sat down, the room uncomfortably still. He could feel heat creeping up the back of his neck, still feeling every pair of eyes in the room on him.

"… I see. My condolences, then."

"Thank you," Frodo answered, though he wasn’t quite sure what, exactly, _condolences_ were.

"Thank you for sharing. Now then, how about you, Mister, ah-?"

"Gamgee!" Sam answered cheerfully, nearly bumping his knee on his desk when he stood up. "Samwise Gamgee! My birthday is the sixth of April, and I’ve grown my own tomatoes before!"

"I see!" Mr. Grey said with a chuckle. "Well, then, I believe that gives you a distinct advantage later in the term, Mr. Gamgee."

Sam grinned as he sat down, Rosie Cotton standing up next to him. However, before she could start talking, the door to the classroom swung open, revealing Headmaster Undomiel at the door.

Frodo’s heart stopped for a moment, a panic rising up in him. The last time he had seen the headmaster, he had come to pull him out of class and take him to his Uncle Bilbo, who had pulled him out of class because his parents had… had had their accident.

Something happened to Uncle Bilbo, he thought. The headmaster was here to get him again, because there had been an accident and now his uncle-!

"Ah, Elrond," Mr. Grey stated warmly, interrupting Frodo’s train of thought once again. "What can I do for you?"

Headmaster Undomiel smiled, and suddenly a boy about Frodo’s age stepped out from beside the tall man.

"Sorry to intrude on your class, Gandalf, but you’ve got one more student." He gestured to the blond-haired boy. "This is-!"

"Ah-ah! I’m sorry, Elrond, but I’ll have to ask that you not tell me his name, as I’m having my students tell me them."

The headmaster rolled his eyes, but smiled. “Very well, then.” He nodded. “I’ll not take up any more of your time. Good morning.”

"Yes, yes it is."

Once Headmaster Undomiel had gone, Mr. Grey looked over at the new student.

"Alright then, my boy. You can take the seat next to Mr. Baggins, if it pleases you."

The blond boy stared out at the crowd.

"Uh, Mr. Gandalf?" He said after a minute, the thick northern accent surprising the class. "I’ve got no idea who this ‘Mr. Boggins’ boy is."

"Oh, of course. Ah, Mr. Baggins, could you please raise your hand so that our friend here might find his seat?"

Warily, Frodo raised his hand, the boy giving him an oddly friendly grin as he walked over and sat down in the desk next to him.

"Thank you. Now then, young miss, please, introduce yourself."

As Rosie started talking about how she once helped her cat deliver a litter of kittens, the boy next to Frodo poked him in the shoulder.

"Psst!" He hissed, trying to get his neighbor’s attention.

After a moment of prodding, Frodo finally gave in, turning and looking at the other boy.

"What?"

He grinned, holding his hand out.

"Fili Durinson, at your service!"

Hesitantly, the Baggins boy shook his hand.

"Uh… Frodo Baggins, at yours."

Fili grinned at him wider before turning back to face front in his seat, loosening the knot of his tie.

A few moments later, everyone but Fili had spoken. The northern boy stood up, leaning forward onto his desk.

"My name is Fili Durinson, my birthday is the twelfth of July, and I’ve seen a dragon before!"

The room was silent for a moment before anyone spoke.

"No you haven’t!" A boy that Frodo didn’t recognize said.

"Have so! His name is Smaug!"

"Nuh-uh! There’s no such thing as dragons!"

"That’s enough, Mr. Banks!" Mr. Grey called.

"But, Mr. Grey! He’s a liar! No one’s _ever_ seen a real dragon in person!”

"Mr. Banks, do you believe that there are other planets?"

The boy blinked. “What? Of course I do!”

"Then am I to assume that you _have_ , in fact, been to the planet Jupiter?”

"Well, no, of course not-!"

"Well, then we are led to a bit of a conundrum- that is, a bit of a problem- aren’t we? Because by _your_ logic, you either have seen the planet Jupiter and believe in other planets, or have _not_ seen it and do not believe in other planets.”

"W-Well- I- There are _pictures_ of Jupiter!”

"Am I to assume you’ve never looked at a storybook, then? You’d find plenty of pictures of dragons in there!"

By now, the whole class was starting to whisper.

"Those are drawings!"

"The accepted looks for many faraway planets are simply drawings. In fact, many of the things we associate with what we cannot see with the naked eye are simply artistic renderings."

Banks was spluttering now, his face bright red. “I- You- Mr. Grey, you’re a _scientist_! Surely you can’t believe that such things exist!”

"Ah, but it is _because_ I am a scientist that I can believe in what I have not seen with my own eyes. For example, I have never seen an underwater volcano explode, yet the existence of the Hawaiian islands tells me that it must be so.” There was a twinkle in his eye, and Frodo couldn’t help but grin. “Just because you have never seen something with your own eyes does not mean that it does not exist.”

"But-!"

"Mr. Banks," Mr. Grey warned, "if you insist on continuing this conversation, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to see me after class."

Banks fell silent, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

"That’s what I thought."

Fili grinned at Frodo. “I really did see one!”

"… Alright." Frodo said evenly, wondering why he had to be sat next to the loony Scotsman.

Scots-boy.

Whatever.


	2. Thorin's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is perpetually annoyed by his family (except for Kili. Kili is one and adorable). Frodo has a very impressive vocabulary for a six-year-old (it comes with living with Bilbo). Fili tries to help (he is not successful). Bilbo hopes his mother and Bofur never meet. Thorin is also very bad at talking to people he finds attractive.

**From: Dis**

_You'll never guess who I met at Fili's school this morning :)_

**To: Dis**

_David Tennant?_

**From: Dis**

_No, you nerd! Bilbo Baggins!_

**To: Dis**

_Who?_

**From: Dis**

_Moron, he's the author of the Alais White series! You know, that action-adventure/spy book series you love?_

**To: Dis**

_Oh. Why was he at Fili's school?_

**From: Dis**

_Why aren't you more excited? I saw him with a kid before Fili ran into him, so I spose he has a kid._

**To: Dis**

_I like the books, I don't much care about who's writing them. Fili recognized him?_

**From: Dis**

_You are the worst fanboy ever. No, Fili literally ran into him._

**To: Dis**

_That's not as much of an insult as you seem to think it is. Control your kid._

**From: Dis**

_Asshole._

Thorin rolled his eyes as he slipped his phone into his back pocket. His sister _had_ to be the second most annoying person in the whole world, he just knew it!

The first, of course, was his brother, Frerin.

"Sir?"

Thorin looked over at the cashier.

"That'll be £75.83, sir."

He sighed, digging his wallet out of his jacket and handing her his credit card. In his back pocket, his phone buzzed again, but he decided to ignore it, and so there he stood, waiting as the cashier checked the charges and his phone buzzed on his backside.

The computer whirred as it printed out a receipt, followed by the sound of paper ripping as the cashier tore it off.

"I'll just need you to sign here, please," the woman said cheerfully as she handed him the paper and a pen.

"Alright," Thorin muttered, taking them and doing as she asked. However, just as he got to the _r_ in _Thorin_ , the pen ran out of ink.

"Dammit!" He cursed under his breath. "Sorry, but I don't s'pose you've another pen on you?"

"No, sorry! If you'll just wait a moment, though, I can go get another one!"

Just as Thorin was about to say that was fine, the man behind him in the queue spoke up.

"Ah, um, sorry to intrude, but... I've got a pen on me, if you'd like to borrow it?"

The dark-haired man turned around, looking at the other man. He was about a head shorter than Thorin, with curly auburn hair and thick-rimmed glasses.

"Oh, thanks."

The other man smiled warmly, fishing a ballpoint pen out of his coat pocket and handing it to Thorin. The taller man kept a straight face, turning and finishing his signature.

"Thank you!" The cashier chirped as she took the receipt to verify it. Thorin turned back to the man, handing his pen back.

“Thanks.” He said bluntly, barely looking at him.

The curly-haired man grinned, and Thorin noticed that the man's eyes, which he originally had thought were brown, were actually a very dark blue.

"Not a problem."

Thorin frowned once more before moving to collect his bags, at which point he realized that the phone in his back pocket was vibrating in a particular pattern. He fished it out, sighing when he saw the caller ID.

"Hullo, Dwalin."

"Stop ignoring your sister's texts, will ya? She's taken to botherin' _me_ now."

On the other end, Thorin could hear grunts of pain and various curses, some of which weren't in English.

"Are you at work?"

Dwalin grunted in affirmation. "Drug bust."

"You know, ya really shouldn't be callin' me when you're s'posed to be arrestin' people."

"Ah, they ain't goin' nowhere! Got two of 'em in a headlock and and already knocked out the big one! Gloin's callin' fer backup now!"

"Hmm. So, typical day, then."

"Pretty much, yeah. You start your new job yet?"

"Not til next week." Thorin sighed. "Remind me just how I ended up takin' a job workin' for Thranduil Greenleaf?"

"Well, lesee... Yer dad died, and he hadn't made a penny fer himself, so your grandad had all the money, so ya had to rely on him." Grunt. Cry of pain. Curse in what Thorin thought was Spanish. "Then _that_ old fucker- no offense."

"None taken, personally I enjoy the thought of the greedy bastard sufferin' eternal damnation."

French cursing.

"International ring?"

"Yep. What was I saying?"

"Ya called my grandfather an old fucker."

"Right, then he died, and all the shady shit he did to keep his company goin', and the government got involved and arrested half the execs- and _you_ , though the charges didn't stick, thank god- and then shut it all down. You and your family ended up so broke that ya had to move into the building in London that Frerin owns, and it's a godsend that ya double-majored in business and architecture, otherwise you'd be screwed. As it stands, you've had to accept a slightly-above-entry-level job at Elvenking Architecture Firm."

Thorin sighed as he sat down on the bus, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah, that about covers it. Still can't believe that my idiot brother managed to win the lottery. Or that he actually made a good investment."

On the other end, Dwalin snorted. "Ah, there's that backup. I'll just leave it to them..."

Thorin paused for a moment. "Was that _Latin_?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, the big guy was apparently a professor at some university."

"Ah. Well, anyone can be corrupted, I s'pose." The architect his phone shifted from one shoulder to the other as he got off the bus. "Hey, did Dis tell you? Apparently Bilbo Baggins has a kid who goes to Fili's new school."

"Really? Bet _you're_ excited about that."

Thorin rolled his eyes. "As I told Dis earlier, I like the _books_ , I don't much care about who's writing them."

"You're a terrible fan. Still, I saw that Baggins guy on the Late Show a couple weeks ago. He seems like your type."

"Dwalin, I don't _have_ a type."

"Do so. Cute, short guys with a bit of meat on 'em, usually the type who'll fuss over you but not take any of your shit, sarcastic but sweet-!"

"Ya know, that reminds me. Have you asked that cute sketch artist yet?"

He could hear his old friend splutter on the other end.

"I-I- You- Ori-!"

The architect chuckled as he dug out the key to his flat.

"Goodbye, Dwalin!" He said in a singsong voice.

"YE BASTARD-!"

Thorin clicked _End_ , cutting off whatever the detective had to say. He turned the key in the lock, grabbing it with his teeth as he tried to balance the bags of groceries while turning the doorknob.

Kili squealed happily when he saw his uncle, kicking his legs and reaching for Thorin.

"Torin! Torin!"

The man grinned as he slipped the key onto the rack, setting the groceries down and walking over to pick up the baby.

"Hey there, Kilili!" He greeted, pressing a kiss into Kili's hair.

Though Thorin had _plenty_ of grievances against his siblings, and on more than one occasion had found Fili to be a bit of an annoyance, he admittedly had nothing but affection for tiny little Kili. He supposed it had to do with the fact that his sister's younger son was too little to be much more than adorable and curious. True, he did have powerful little lungs, but all in all Kili was a rather good baby.

Of course, _Fili_ had also been a very good baby, and nowadays he was the biggest troublemaker Thorin had seen since Frerin was young.

"Forgetting something, brother?"

Thorin turned, looking at his sister, who was leaning on the doorframe that lead to the kitchen, her arms folded as she looked at them with an unimpressed expression.

"A-Ah, yeah, right, the groceries-!"

Dis rolled her eyes. "Not _that_ , although thank you for remembering. No, I'm talking about you ignoring my messages! I was starting to think you'd gotten lost on the Tube or something!"

Thorin snorted as he handed his sister her child and picked up the groceries. "Please, you know I never get lost underground!"

Once again, she rolled her eyes. "Right, it's just _above_ ground that you lose your way."

The architect simply hummed in response, unpacking the bags of groceries and putting the various items into groups. Fruits, vegetables, canned goods, sweets (which went high on the pantry shelf where Fili couldn't get to them), frozen things...

"Thorin Thrain Durinson! Are you listening to me?"

"Nope."

Dis groaned. "I shouldn't be surprised. Come on, Thorin, this is a _really_ important interview!"

He paused. "Oh, is that _today_?"

" _Yes_ , which is why I need you to watch Kili and pick Fili up from school!"

"Right, right..." He sighed.

* * *

  
"... And then the dragon was all like 'I AM KING OF THIS MOUNTAIN NOW, GET OUT, RAAAARGHH'!"

Fili's classmates ooh'd and aah'd as he told his story, Frodo and his mates standing back and watching.

"He's a bit funny, isn't he?" Sam commented as he hung from the playground's bars.

"Yeah, _funny_. If by funny you mean _bonkers_." Frodo muttered.

"Oh, come on now, Baggins, he's not that bad!" Merry said as he reached the bottom of the slide.

"Oof! Yeah, I mean, that homeless man who used to live in the park before he tried to kill that guy was a lot worse!" Pippin added after he knocked Merry off the slide.

"Mr. Smeagol had a mental illness, Pippin."

"Yeah, it's called being stark-raving nutters!"

"I think it's called kitz-oh-friend-ya, actually."

"That's not a word!"

"Is so! I heard my dad say it when he was talking with his friend in the police after it happened!"

"Your dad's a _gardener_ , why would he have a friend in the police?"

"You don't know who my dad knows!"

Frodo sighed as his three friends started to argue over who Hamfast Gamgee did and did not know, staring at Fili, who still had the rest of their classmates captivated with his story.

Fili was definitely an odd fellow. He had a sort of charisma about him, but he was also loud and boisterous. He was proud, that much was for sure. There was also the matter of his appearance. His hair obviously hadn't gotten a proper cutting in a while, and his pants were a bit too short, as if they had fit until recently and couldn't be replaced. Yet still he was proud, as if he had come from a line of royalty.

Fili was very weird, Frodo decided, but somehow likeable.

“Hey, Baggins!”

Sam groaned. “Oh, no...”

Frodo rolled his eyes as he turned to look at the gang of older kids quickly approaching them.

“Good morning, Arryn. I see you’re as pleasant as ever.” He greeted with forced politeness, remembering that it was his first day back and that he really didn’t want to start any trouble.

Behind him, Merry and Pippin puffed up their chests, attempting to look bigger than they actually were.

“What’s wrong with those two?” One of Arryn’s cronies asked.

“They look like balloons!”

Arryn chuckled. “Perhaps we should see if they’ll pop, eh?”

The younger boys deflated, shrinking back while Sam moved in front of them defensively.

“Look, Arryn, I’m not really in the mood for fighting today; can’t we just declare that you’re bigger and tougher than me and call it even?”

“Oh, but what fun would that be, Frodo the Dodo?”

Occassionally the younger Baggins hated the name his parents gave him, even if he had loved them very much. Who gives their son a name that rhymes with that of a bird known for being so dumb it went extinct?

Drogo and Primula Baggins, apparently.

“Well, since apparently you’re not clever enough to listen to reason- personally I suspect that your berserk pituitary gland is the cause of your antisocial behavior- I think I’ll just be on my way. Goodbye.”

Frodo was nearly halfway to the crowd still gathered around Fili when Arryn seemed to decode his insult.

“HEY!”

The next thing the boy knew, the older kid had him by the collar of his shirt, his fist raised high and aimed at Frodo’s nose.

The crowd behind them gasped, even Fili falling silent when he saw the commotion in front of him.

“Whoa there!” The Northern boy yelled, jumping down from the raised platform near the benches and pushing through the crowd. “Hey, now, let’s not fight!”

“Fili, stay out of this!” Frodo warned in a hushed, strained voice, his eyes darting between the blond boy and the bully.

Fili, of course, did not listen or even look at him, instead focusing on Arryn. “Come on, man, let him down! He’s like half yer size!”

“He’s a cheeky little _worm_ , and I think you ought to listen to him when he tells you to stay out of it, Scotty!”

“Ignoring that. Look, he’s just a kid! Can’t ya let him off the hook this time?”

“Look, newbie, I’m not going to tell you again. I haven’t decided whether or not I hate you, and you aren’t exactly making a great first impression-!”

“Just what in the world is going on here?”

Frodo grunted as Arryn dropped him to the ground, looking over at the side door. Mr. Grey looked extremely displeased, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed. Rosie Cotton shot Frodo a sympathetic look as she walked back into the crowd, clearly having been the one to go get him.

“Nothing, Mr. Grey.” Arryn lied easily, his gang murmuring in agreement. “I was just... helping Mr. Baggins here fix his uniform.”

The older boy grabbed Frodo roughly by the arm, dragging him to his feet.

“Right, Baggins?”

“... Sure, why not?” Frodo muttered, not really feeling up to an argument.

The teacher lifted an eyebrow, clearly not believing the story for a second.

“If that’s the case, then I’m afraid that you’ve got a rather strange idea of how to fix a uniform so that it looks presentable, Mr. Huxberry.” The old man looked out at the crowd of schoolchildren, eyebrow still raised as if he knew the truth but was testing their morals. “Would anyone here care to dispute Mr. Huxberry’s story?”

Every child in the group was silent, several glancing at Frodo sadly but saying nothing.

The Baggins boy didn’t blame them, not for a moment. Arryn and his gang were much bigger than all of them, and had no qualms when it came to their victims. Crossing them would be like crossing a country with a stash of nuclear weapons: an all-around bad idea.

“Mr. Grey!” Fili suddenly shouted, startling Frodo.

Mr. Grey looked rather pleased. “Ah, yes, Mr. Durinson. What would you like to say?”

“Mr. Grey, he wasn’t really helping Frodo, he was gonna punch him! He called him a cheeky little worm!”

“Why you little-!” Arryn started shouting, pushing Frodo out of the way and grabbing Fili’s arm.

“Mr. Huxberry,” Mr. Grey warned, walking over to the boys and seperating them. “I will ask that you not attempt to harm Mr. Durinson, as you are in enough trouble as is. Now, come along, I believe that Headmaster Undomiel would like to speak with you before he informs your parents of what you’ve been up to.”

There was a distinctly mirthful tone in his voice as he lead Arryn away by the arm, and Frodo suddenly got the feeling that he had been _trying_ to get someone to confirm that the older boy was a bully.

Frodo decided that he liked Mr. Grey very much, even if he _was_ a bit _weird_.

Fili suddenly clapped Frodo on the back. “Ya alright there, Boggins?”

“ _Baggins_ ,” Frodo corrected. “A-And, yes, I am. Um. Th... Thank you, Fili.”

The blond boy grinned. “Ah, no problem, Frodo! Think nothing of it!”

The smaller boy grinned back, thinking that perhaps Fili, even if he was a bit mad, might be a good friend after all.

“Don’t think this is over, Baggins!” Arryn called. “The only reason everyone is bein’ so nice to you is ‘cause your stupid dodo bird parents went and drowned! They just feel sorry for you!”

Frodo froze, his blood going cold at the mention of his parents. Slowly, he turned to face Arryn, who was grinning evilly at him.

He wished he could say that he remained calm. That he did nothing. That the most he even did was yell a snarky retort.

He wished he could say that he _didn’t_ run over and tackle Arryn to the ground.

But he did.

* * *

  
“Bofur, for the _last_ time, I don’t want you to set me up on a blind date!”

Bilbo’s friend sighed on the screen. “Come on now, laddie, it’s been _ages_ since you last went out with anyone!”

Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bofur, _no_. I really don’t have time to date right now! I’ve got a deadline coming up in less than a month, and I’ve hardly even gotten halfway through the work! Plus, Frodo’s still adjusting to all the changes-!”

“Bilbo, it’s been _three months_. You can’t use Frodo as an excuse to be lonely forever, you know.”

“He’s just lost his _parents_ , Bofur, you can’t expect him to be over it yet. Besides, Frodo is _six_. He still thinks girls have cooties.”

This was actually a lie; Frodo did _not_ believe that girls had cooties, nor had he ever believed that.

But Bofur didn’t need to know that.

“Aye, but you’re not interested in dating a girl, are you?”

“Well, no, but...”

“Ah, come on, Bilbo! It’s not like you have any prospective partners, right?”

The handsome (but rather rude) stranger from the market that morning flashed through Bilbo’s mind, but the writer quickly blocked that thought out.

_He was just some man at the market. Besides, you’ll probably never see him again._

“Well, no, I don’t...”

“Please, Bilbo? Just one date? I promise I’ll stop bugging you about it!”

The curly-haired man sighed in defeat. “Fine. _One_ date.”

Bofur looked far too pleased. “You won’t regret it! I know just the guy, he’s just moved out to London from Edinburgh! He’s an architect at this firm called Elvenking...”

Bilbo sighed once more, leaning on his hand and sipping his tea as his old friend prattled on about the guy he was being set up with. He loved Bofur, he really did, but sometimes he couldn’t help but feel that the toymaker was a bit too enthusiastic when it came to Bilbo’s love life. He was almost as bad as his mother, now that he thought about it.

He hoped that Bofur Broadbeam and Belladonna Baggins never met, because the world would never recover from the havoc those two would wreak.

Nor would Bilbo.

Suddenly, the writer’s phone rang, nearly making him burn his tongue on his tea.

“Ah, sorry, Bofur, I’ve got to take this, it’s Frodo’s school.”

“No problem. I should probably get some sleep, it’s gettin’ late.”

“Alright. Good luck at the conference, then.”

Bofur gave him one last grin before the screen went black, Bilbo closing his laptop as he answered his phone.

“Hullo. Bilbo Baggins speaking.”

“Ah, hello, Mr. Baggins!” A cheerful sounding man greeted him. “My name is Lindir McKenzie, I’m the Deputy Headmaster at Rivendell Academy. I have you listed as the guardian for a Mr. Frodo Baggins?”

Bilbo frowned. “Yes, that’s correct. Has something happened to Frodo?”

“Ah, well, you see...”

* * *

  
Thorin sighed.

“What happened?” He asked, bouncing the fussing Kili, who had been promised ice cream but had yet to be given any.

Fili looked at his feet, still holding the ice to his quickly blackening eye. “Well... y’see...”

The door opened, revealing a tall, elf-like man.

“Ah, you must be Mr. Durinson.”

“I am.” Thorin said warily. “And who might you be?”

“I am Elrond Undomiel, the Headmaster of this school.” He gestured inside his office. “Please, come in.”

Without a word, the architect and his nephews went inside. Thorin scanned the group already in the room. An annoyed looking man in a suit, probably the father of the unpleasant-looking boy with the black eye and swollen lip, a tall, grey-haired man in a lab coat- a science teacher?-, a boy with dark, curly hair, tear-stained cheeks, and a bloody nose, and...

Thorin sucked in a breath, his eyes going a bit wide when he saw the man from the market, this time noticing the way his auburn hair curled and framed his face, the way his glasses balanced on his round nose, how his clothes fell over his slightly chubby body...

Internally, Thorin groaned. Dwalin had been right, he _did_ have a type, and damn it all if this man didn’t fit the bill.

“Would someone _please_ tell me why you called us here? I have a very important meeting to get to!” The man in the suit demanded, sounding just as annoyed as he looked.

“Of course, Mr. Huxberry.” Elrond said diplomatically, looking up at the man in the lab coat. “Gandalf, if you please.”

The older man nodded. “Of course. Mr. Huxberry, earlier today I came upon your son about to physically assault the younger Mr. Baggins.”

“What?!” Both the curly-haired man and the businessman cried.

“Are- are you seriously suggesting that _my_ son is capable of such a thing?!”

“I am not _suggesting_ , Mr. Huxberry, I am _telling_ you that he was about to break Mr. Baggins’ nose.”

“That’s- where’s your proof, huh?”

“Oh, well, I have an eyewitness!” He turned towards Thorin and Fili. “Ah, Mr. Durinson?”

“Yes?” Both of them responded.

“Ah, the _younger_ Mr. Durinson, I mean.”

The curly-haired man chuckled under his breath, and Thorin felt like his heart might just stop. Sweet _lord_ , even his _laugh_ was attractive!

“Yes, Mr. Grey?” Fili asked sweetly. Thorin barely suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

“Could you perhaps tell me once again what you saw occur between the younger Mr. Huxberry and the younger Mr. Baggins? I seem to have forgotten.”

“Arryn grabbed Frodo by the collar of his shirt and lifted him up. He was gonna punch him, but I ran over, and then he said that Frodo was a ‘cheeky little worm’ and called me ‘Scotty’ and told me to stay out of it.”

The architect barely kept himself from glaring at the oldest child in the room. He’d met far too many adults like this kid, the kind who thought they could get away with anything because they were big and strong.

“Arryn!” The man in the suit shouted.

“He’s lying, Dad, honest! I didn’t do anything! He probably did it and blamed it on me ‘cause he’s poor!”

“Excuse me?!” Thorin all but shouted, glaring at both father and son.

“Mr. Durinson, please, there’s been far too much fighting in my school already.” Elrond stated calmly but firmly, and something in his voice made Thorin think that he ought to do as he said. “Now, Mr. Huxberry, we already know that he is not lying, and I’ll thank you not to assume that his socieoeconomic status automatically determines his morals, as we have far too many people in the world who think that way already. In any case, several other students have come forward since the incident and confirmed that Mr. Durinson is telling the truth, as well as informing us of several other incidents involving you, as well as several of your classmates.”

Thorin could have _sworn_ that Gandalf looked pleased at that.

Arryn looked positively livid. “W-Well, what about _him_?!” He yelled, pointing at the curly-haired boy. “He hit me!”

“He _what_?” The bespectacled man cried.

“Ah, yes, that was the other part of the incident. Gandalf?”

“While I was escorting Mr. Huxberry to the Headmaster’s office, he said some rather, well, _horrible_ things about the late Mr. and Mrs. Baggins.”

“He called them dodo birds!” Fili yelled.

“Fili,” Thorin warned half-heartedly, staring at the boy, who was staring at the floor.

“It was at this point that the young Mr. Baggins attacked Mr. Huxberry. He tackled and punched him once in the mouth before Mr. Huxberry punched him in the nose. Mr. Durinson attempted to break up the fight, but ended up being punched in the eye, a blow he returned.”

“Fili!” Thorin scolded, shifting Kili in his arms.

“What? I was just trying to help!”

“By _punchin’_ someone in the _face_?!"

“He punched me first!”

“Why on _earth_ would that make it okay to hit him?!”

“Mum says if someone hits you, you hit them _harder_!”

“Wh- Alright, I know I’ve told ya to listen to your mother, but in this case, _don’t_.”

“Frodo...” Mr. Baggins said, kneeling down and rubbing the boy’s back.

“... ‘m sorry.” The younger Baggins half-sobbed, Thorin’s heart breaking a bit at the desolation in his voice. “I just- I just got so _mad_ -!”

“Mr. Baggins, no one here is saying that you don’t have the right to grieve them. Nor are we saying that Mr. Huxberry had any right to say what he did. However, I cannot condone violence on either part. So, Mr. Huxberry, you are hereby suspended for the next three weeks. Mr. Baggins and Mr. Durinson, you will each write an essay of no less than two hundred words on why nonviolence is a better choice when it comes to conflict resolution.”

“What?!” Arryn cried. “That’s not fair! Why aren’t _they_ getting suspended?! They both hit me!”

“Yes, but only after _you_ physically and or emotionally assaulted them. My decision is final. Now, good day to all of you.”

Arryn tried to protest, but his father dragged him away, grumbling about how his wife would be _livid_ when she found out.

Thorin sighed, shifting a now half-asleep Kili around in his arms as he exited the office, Fili following closely behind.

“Are you mad?” The blond boy asked after a moment.

“... No, but... next time, if someone hits you, don’t hit ‘em, alright? No matter _what_ your mum says.”

Fili grinned, then winced in pain.

“... Can we still have ice cream?”

Kili suddenly jolted awake. “Ice cream?”

Thorin rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “I don’t think we’d be able to get away with _not_ getting any now.”

The door opened once more, the curly-haired boy- Frodo- rubbing at his eyes as he walked out. Thorin could hear the older Baggins speaking to Elrond and Gandalf.

“Oh!” Fili said suddenly, running over to the other boy. “Hey, Frodo!”

The smaller boy looked up, his eyes red from crying and his nose starting to turn a rather unpleasant shade of purple.

“You okay?”

“... No, not really.” He answered honestly, his voice quiet.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Fili said quietly. “How’s your nose?”

“The nurse says it probably isn’t broken, so I guess that’s good. How’s your eye?”

“Well, I can’t really see out of it, but it’s still in my head, so I’m not complainin’!”

Frodo laughed a bit at that.

“Frodo, we should get- oh, hello there.”

Fili grinned up at the elder Baggins. “Hullo, Mr. Boggins!”

“ _Baggins_.” Both uncle and nephew corrected.

“Sorry. Mr. _Baggins_.”

“That’s alright. Ah, and who’s this?”

“Hmm?” He turned around, looking up at his uncle and brother. “Oh!”

The blond boy ran over, grabbing Thorin and dragging him over. “This is my Uncle Thorin and my baby brother Kili! Uncle Thorin, this is Frodo and his uncle Bilbo!”

Thorin’s throat felt impossibly dry when those dark blue eyes looked up into his. Oh, great, now he knew that this guy was a phenomenally talented writer as well. God, why him?

“Hello.”

The architect remembered after a moment that he should speak. “Y... Yeah, hi.”

_Oh, god, what was_ that?! _Christ, Durinson, could you_ be _less smooth?!_

Kili gurgled around the fingers in his mouth.

“Oh, and hello to you as well, Kili!”

The baby froze for a moment, then grinned, giggling and burying his face in Thorin’s shoulder.

_If only I could do that without it seeming unbearably creepy._

Thorin cleared his throat. “F... Fili, we ought to go. Your mother will be worried.”

“Oh, okay. Are we still getting ice cream?”

“Ice cream!” Kili squeaked.

“Again, we can’t get away with not getting any now. Come on.”

“Okay!” Suddenly, Fili turned around, hugging Frodo tightly. “Bye, Frodo! See you tomorrow!”

The other boy looked entirely surprised, but eventually hugged Fili back. “Uh... bye, Fili.”

The blond boy grinned, releasing Frodo from the hug and grabbing Thorin’s hand, waving back at Frodo before dragging Thorin along.

The architect braved one last look at the other man, who had taken a knee and was talking to his own nephew softly. The affection and warmth in his eyes was clearly visible, and even Thorin could see how much he cared for the younger Baggins.

“He’s very handsome, isn’t he?” Fili commented as they exited the school.

Thorin swallowed hard, shifting Kili around in his arms as he walked over to where he had parked the buggy. “W... Who?”

“Mr. Baggins, of course!”

_Extremely._

Kili giggled as he was strapped into his seat, kicking his legs a bit. Thorin hummed, pressing a kiss into the wisps of brown hair on the top of the baby’s head and pulling out the cover.

“Is... is he? I hadn’t noticed.”

Fili giggled, waving his arms as he bounced down the front steps. “Course ya didn’t, Uncle!”

Internally, Thorin groaned. Great, even his six-year-old nephew knew he had a type!

He could already _hear_ Dis laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, this one got long. I actually started this in Paris (it was a long trip), but I didn't have the chance to finish until I got back to the States. Also, I'm recovering from wisdom teeth removal surgery, so I don't have anything better to do.


	3. Night Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dis hates job interviews. Belladonna has had a lot of adventures, most of which she hasn't told Bilbo about. Frodo misses his parents. Thorin is terrible at dating. Bofur is very persuasive.

Dis sighed as she turned the key in the lock to her flat.

She really _hated_ interviews. The endless questions, the strange pauses, the unshakeable feeling that the interviewer was staring at her boobs, and most of all, _wearing high heels_. There was a reason that she had danced barefoot at her wedding reception, and that was that Dis Durinson, who had kept her last name to the chagrin of many an old-fashioned, gossiping, incredibly irritating relative, did not have feet made to be in uncomfortable shoes for more than an hour.

Come to think of it, she never _did_ manage to find those shoes again.

At least she got the job, even though it had been a very long time since she had worked in marketing. She was _good_ at it, nonetheless, but it would probably take a while to get back into the swing of things.

Still, it was nice to feel like she would be contributing something, even if Frerin wasn’t charging them rent (much to the displeasure of one Thorin Durinson, who had protested, claiming not to need charity from his little brother. Frerin, of course, had told him that it wasn’t called charity if it was between family, it was called _duty_ ). She’d had to stop working when she was pregnant with Fili, who had weighed ten pounds at birth and had forced her to be on bedrest for half of her pregnancy, and she’d never really gotten around to looking for another job. Vili had told her that she didn’t need to work, that he could provide for her on his salary.

Which he earned by being a military doctor.

Which ended up getting him killed.

The smell of pizza reached her nose, a smile playing on her deep red lips as all thoughts of her dear late husband were slowly pushed to the back of her mind.

“I’m home-!” She froze when she saw her oldest son, who was sitting on the sofa, munching on a slice of pizza while watching television and holding a bag of ice to his blackened, swollen eye.

“Hi, Mum!” He greeted cheerfully. “Did you get the job?”

“Fili, what happened?!” Dis cried, dumping her purse and kicking off her shoes as she ran over to her son, inspecting him carefully.

“Oh, a bigger kid punched me in the face. I punched him back, though.” Fili said as if he were telling her how the weather had been that day.

“Wh- Why did you do that?!”

“You told me that if someone hits me, I should hit ‘em back harder!”

“I never said that!”

“You didn’t?”

“No!”

“Oh.” Fili looked thoughtful for a moment. “Maybe that was Uncle Frerin, then...”

Dis sighed, running a hand through her hair. “God, I can’t believe you got into a fight on your first day...”

“I didn’t get into a fight, Mum, I was trying to break one up! See, there was this bigger kid and he was being mean to my new friend- his name is Frodo- and the big kid was gonna punch Frodo, but I stopped him, and he called Frodo a worm- a _worm_ , Mum!- and then Mr. Grey- he’s my teacher, you’d like him- came out and told Arryn- the big kid- that he was going to take him to see the Headmaster, and then Arryn told Frodo that the only reason that everyone was being nice to him is cause his parents died- they drowned a couple months ago- and then Frodo got really mad and tackled him, and Arryn punched him in the nose- after Frodo punched him in the mouth- and so I tried to help, but Arryn punched me in the eye, so I hit him in the eye back, and then Mr. Grey took us all inside, and in the end Arryn got dispended for three weeks and Frodo and I both have to write essays on nonviolence. Also, what’s an essay?”

Dis blinked, trying to process everything her son had just told her. “And... that’s why ya have the black eye?”

“Yup! So did ya get the job, Mum?”

“Uh... yes. Yes, I did. I start next Monday.”

“That’s great! Do you want some pizza? We have a lot left over! Uncle Thorin’s giving Kili a bath, and one of those detective programs from the U.S is going to be on in a little while!”

Dis smiled, following her son into the kitchen. “Sure, love. Do ya know which one it is?”

“I think it’s the one with the bone lady and the F.B.I Agent.”

“Ah, that’s a good one. So, why don’t ya tell me about this Frodo boy?”

“Oh, well, he sits next to me, he’s got curly hair- _really_ curly hair- and he’s kind of short, but he’s really nice and funny, and oh! His uncle is Bilbo Baggins!”

His mother’s eyebrows rose in interest. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah! He was at the meeting too! I think Uncle Thorin likes him.”

“Well, good. He could use a friend, ya know.”

“No, Mum, I mean, I think Uncle _likes_ Mr. Baggins.” Fili repeated slowly, putting emphasis on the word _likes_.

Dis’ eyebrows rose up even more. “Oh. _Oh_.”  

In the bathroom, Thorin felt a sudden chill go up his spine.

* * *

 

“So he really hit a kid, huh?”

Bilbo sighed, holding his forehead and leaning against the wall of his living room. “Yeah, he did.”

His mother hummed on the other end. “Well, at least he didn’t bite him.”

“Mum! He punched the boy in the face!”

“Didn’t this boy taunt him and call his recently deceased parents dodo birds?” Bilbo’s father called from a distance.

“Yes, dear, he did. Oh, if I had been there-!”

“Mum, please, don’t. You getting in trouble again is the _last_ thing we need.”

“Why, because you don’t want the press smearing the name of your inspiration for your breakout character?”

Bilbo paused, pursing his lips tightly. “You saw the interview?” He asked, keeping his voice carefully even.

“Of course I did, dear, I’m your mother. It’s been the talk of the town, you know! Of course, you’re always the talk of the town, seeing as nothing much else happens here, which you were kind enough to say on television.”

He groaned. “Knew I would regret saying that.”

“Oh, come now, dear, I think it’s sweet! I didn’t think you were listening when I told you about the adventures I had back when I was an anthropologist!”

“Of course I did, Mum. Of course, it’s not exactly your adventures- I mean, you were never an undercover spy or anything, right?”

There was a brief silence, and suddenly Bungo burst out laughing.

“Mum? Why’s Dad laughing?”

“Oh, would you look at the time? I really must be going to bed! I love you, Bilbo, please call more often!”

“Mum, hold on, what aren’t you telling me?”

For a moment, Belladonna was silent, her husband’s laughter the only sound on either end of the conversation.

“Many things, Bilbo.” She finally said, and Bilbo could hear the secretive little smile in her voice. “ _So_ many things.”

“Mum-!”

The dial tone sounded when she hung up, making the writer sigh in frustration.

“I swear, someday that woman is going to drive me _mad_...” He muttered lowly, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

He paused, glancing up the stairs that lead to Frodo’s bedroom. He winced whenever they creaked, hoping that, if Frodo was asleep like he suspected, he wouldn’t wake up.

Quietly, he peeked into Frodo’s room, sighing when he saw the dim, occassionally flickering glow of his nephew’s bedside lamp, as well as the Frodo-shaped lump beneath the blanket.

“Frodo?”

The lump jumped a bit, and after a moment a head of curly hair poked out. The white bandage on Frodo’s nose covered up most of the purple and yellow bruising, and his eyes were red from crying.

“... Hi.”

Bilbo smiled softly, walking over to Frodo’s bed and getting in next to him. “Hi.”

Frodo leaned into his shoulder, pulling up the scrapbook he had been looking at.

“I miss them.” He said quietly.

The writer sighed, hugging his nephew tightly and pressing a kiss into his curly hair. “I do too, Frodo. Very much.”

“... Do you think Arryn was right?”

“Wh- Frodo Baggins, you are most definitely _not_ a worm, cheeky or otherwise!”

“Not _that_! I mean, do you think people are only being nice to me cause Mum and Dad died?”

Bilbo hesitated. “Well... I suppose a few of them might be. But you _are_ very likable, so I’d say that a majority of them are being nice to you because they find you to be pleasant.”

Frodo smiled a bit, looking up at his Uncle. After a moment, he frowned, looking a bit nervous. “Are you mad? Because I punched him?”

“... No, though I do wish you hadn’t hit him.”

“It was stupid.” Frodo agreed, yawning softly.

“Yes it was.” Bilbo said, pressing another kiss to Frodo’s forehead as he got out of the bed.

“I love you, Uncle Bilbo.” The boy murmured sleepily, lying down in his bed.

“I love you too.” Bilbo said as he tucked his nephew into bed, kissing his forehead one last time. “Get some sleep, alright?”

“Kay. Night.”

The writer smiled, turning out the light, making a mental note to replace the lightbulb. “Goodnight, Frodo.”

He closed the door behind him, sighing softly to himself.

_It’s times like these that I realize that I have no idea what the hell I’m doing anymore._

* * *

 

“Bofur, _no_.”

“Come on, Thorin, it’s _one_ date!”

“I’m _terrible_ at dating, you know that!”

“Oh, come on, now, Oakenshield-!”

“Don’t call me that, no one’s called me that since Uni.”

“Fine, I won’t, but still! You’re not _terrible_ at it! Sure, you’re bad at small talk, blunt, kind of a downer-”

“Yeah, okay-”

“Awkward, ungrateful, cold-”

“Bofur-”

“Have a bad temper, kinda stingy, occassionally smell like eggs for no reason-”

“ _Bofur_ -”

“Usually have a scowl on your face, a total grump, stubborn as all get out-!”

“OKAY!” Thorin finally shouted into the phone, shutting the toymaker up. “Okay, I get it, I’m not exactly the perfect man! Or... even the semi-perfect man.”

“Aw, come on now! You’re _somebody’s_ perfect man! Besides, this guy is _perfect_ for you! He’s exactly your type-!”

“Why does _everyone_ seem to think I have a type?!”

“Because you _do_ , Thorin, I mean, your last two boyfriends could have been the same guy! Come on, please? I’ve already told him all about you! And anyway, it’s not like you have any prospects, right?”

Thorin, of course, immediately thought of Bilbo Baggins and his curly hair, his dark blue eyes behind thick spectacles, his adorable round nose, his-

_Dammit, Thorin, cut that out! He wouldn’t go out with you if you were the last man on Earth!_

“... I s’pose not.” He admitted with a sigh. “Fine, whatever. Set us up. Don’t blame me if he hates you afterward.”

He could almost see the excitement on Bofur’s face.

“You won’t regret this!”

“Already do.” He muttered. “Got to go. See you later, Bofur.”

Once the toymaker had said his goodbyes, Thorin hung up the phone, rubbing at his temples in an attempt to ward off the coming headache. He slumped onto the couch, where his sister sat munching on a slice of pizza and nursing a bottle of beer while watching one of her cop shows.

“Who were you talkin’ to?”

“Bofur. He pretty much just strong armed me into going on a blind date.”

“Ah. Well, maybe you’ll meet someone nice.” She replied somewhat absently, never tearing her eyes away from the show.

Thorin snorted as he watched the F.B.I Agent roll down the hill with part of the victim. “Doubt it.”

“You’re so negative. But, hey, if it doesn’t work out with your mystery man, there’s always Mr. Baggins.”

Her brother nearly fell off the couch in shock. “Wh- H-How did you-?!”

“Fili told me. You should totally ask him out. Y’know, if the blind date thing doesn’t go well.”

Thorin spluttered uselessly as the opening credits played. “Y-You- I- I don’t _like_ him!”

“Oh, _please_ , Thorin, I’ve met him. He’s completely your type!”

“W-Why does _everyone_ keep insisting that I have a type?!”

“Because you _do_ , duh.” Dis said easily, taking a swig of her beer.

The architect let out a disgruntled harumph as he sat down heavily on the sofa. “E... Even if I _did_ like him- and I’m not saying that I _do_ \- why would he want to go out with me? I’m not exactly _charming_ , if you haven’t noticed.”

Dis gave him a look. “Thorin, I am your sister, and I love you _only_ as your sister, there is no Game of Thrones thing here, and thus this will probably come out sounding very, very weird, but have you _ever_ looked at yourself in the mirror? You’re no slouch in the looks department. I’ve seen the way people stare at you when we walk down the street. I think that I saw a couple of teenagers swoon once!”

Thorin snorted. “Great, so I’m doomed to be with someone who only loves me for my looks. Thanks, Dis.”

“Oh, come on! You’re likable enough, once you get past the short temper and the grumpiness! Someday, you’ll find a cute, sarcastic little man who loves you for you, warts and all!”

“What’re you, my fairy godmother?”

“No, I’m your extremely patient and loving little sister.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m fairly sure I don’t have a patient and loving sister, just an annoying and nosy one.”

Dis glared at him, then turned back to the TV, sticking her foot right in her brother’s face.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“You know what.”

“No, I’m sorry, I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Dis, put your foot down.”

“What foot?”

“The one that is currently on my face.”

“My foot isn’t on your face. You must be imagining things.”

“Dis, I can feel you rubbing my beard with it.”

“What beard? You mean that patchy bit of stubble you missed when you shaved this morning?”

“Dis Durinson, I will not ask you again.”

“Ooh, the ‘Dad’ voice! Haven’t heard that in a while!”

“DIS!”

His sister laughed, but quietly put her foot down.

“I wonder if Mr. Baggins will let you boss him around like that.”

“Wh- YOU ARE THE WORST SISTER EVER.”

Dis just laughed again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm productive when I'm ill.


	4. The Day Before the Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin starts working for (the crazy asshat named) Thranduil. He also has to design the new building for the people who ruined his family's business. Bilbo has writer's block (mostly due to a certain pair of intense blue eyes) and considers being more public about his sexuality. A date is arranged.

“I’m very sorry we had to call you in early, Mr. Durinson, but Mr. Greenleaf said that we needed all hands on deck for this new project.” The assistant, Aithwen or whatever, apologized as she and Thorin exited the elevator and narrowly avoided being run over by one of the many workers who were bustling around the floor.

“It’s... it’s fine, really.” Thorin assured her, stepping out of the way just before his foot was run over by a coffee cart.

_It’s a good thing that Eowyn was kind enough to look after Kili_ , he thought as they walked through one of the aisles of blueprint stations, each of which was occupied by a hardworking employee slaving away at various designs.

“Just... just out of curiosity, where _is_ Mr. Greenleaf during all of this?” _Probably at some golf course or something._

“Ah, he’s in his office, actually. He wanted to see you before you got to work, so if you’ll just continue following me...”

The chaos seemed to worsen the closer they got to Thranduil’s office, as more and more of Thorin’s new co workers seemed to be getting frustrated or stuck with the projects, the aisle becoming cluttered with discarded and balled up papers.

“Who’s the client again?”

Aithwen hesitated, seeming to consider her words carefullly. “I... I believe that may be exactly what Mr. Greenleaf wishes to speak to you about.”

Before them was a large, brown oak door, intricate patterns carved into it. The handles were gold, curved and in the center of the door.

Thorin hated it. It reminded him of the ill-fated trip to one of the United States’ National Parks (Yellowstone? He honestly had pretty much blocked out the memory) that his father had dragged him and his siblings on the summer after his mother had passed away. He supposed his father had meant well, but it had been far too soon after Idris’ passing to try to pretend that things were still the same.

Thorin still couldn’t stand camping.

Suddenly, there was a great crash from inside the office, and Thorin could hear two people, both of whom sounded fairly male, yelling at the top of their lungs, using a mix of French and English.

“You don’t rule my life!” He heard a younger male yell, followed by something else in French.

“No, but I _do_ pay for your University, you ungrateful-!” Something in French, bellowed by a man who sounded like he was a bit older than Thorin.

“What’s your problem with us, anyway?! I know it’s not the fact that we’re both men, I know about the summer you-!” French. “Do you realize how _weird_ it was knowing that you did my math teacher?!”

“Why you-! Why can’t you be more like Tauriel? _She_ never-!” More French. Thorin hoped that he didn’t need to learn the language to work here.

“Tauriel is _eighteen months old_ , she still shits in her pants!”

The doors burst open, a young, blond-haired man storming out.

“And just where the hell do you think _you’re_ going?!” A man Thorin recognized as Thranduil Greenleaf called after him.

“To see Gimli!”

“You will do no such thing!”

“I’m an adult, you don’t get to boss me around anymore!”

“Legolas Greenleaf, you get back here this instant!”

Legolas, as that was apparently his name, of course, did not, instead walking over to the elevator and getting in.

Thranduil grimaced, clenching his fist and grabbing one of the oak doors, slamming it hard.

_I work for this guy now,_ Thorin thought as he looked around, expecting to see his co-workers staring at their boss incredulously, but much to his shock, no one seemed to be even batting an eye at the outburst, as if this sort of thing was a commonplace occurrence for them.

Sweet lord, what had he gotten himself into?

Thranduil straightened, looking over at Thorin and smiling politely.

“Ah, Mr. Durinson. I apologize for... _that_.” He said, gesturing at the elevator. “Rest assured, it won’t happen again.”

_Well that’s a heaping load of bullshit, if the reactions of everyone else are anything to go by._

The architect forced himself to return the smile. “Don’t worry about it. Kids, right?”

“Ah, you have children?” Thranduil asked as he opened the door to his office, gesturing for Thorin to follow him.

“Oh, well, no, none of my own, but I do have a couple of nephews. They and their mother live with me.”

“The father isn’t in the picture then?”

“... Vili... Vili died 'bout a year and a half ago.” Thorin said quietly as he took a seat in one of the (fucking ugly) chairs. “He was a doctor in the military.”

“Oh. My condolences, then.”

“Thank you.”

He hated to admit it, but he did miss Vili. Even if he had been an annoying, serenading little shit some (alright, _most_ ) of the time, he had made Dis happy in a way that no else ever had, especially not that asshole boyfriend she had had when she met Vili.

“Now, then, Mr. Durinson. I’m very sorry that I had to call you in like this, and rest assured your paycheck will reflect the fact that you have had to come in before you actually started working here. However, the main reason that I have asked you to come in is because I feel that you may have insight to our client’s preferences.”

Thorin frowned. “Why would ya think that?”

“Well, you’ve had, ah, _dealings_ with this particular company before.”

Thranduil looked over at Aithwen, who produced a thick-looking contract and handed it to the architect. Thorin looked down at it, his stomach turning when he saw the all too familiar logo at the top.

“... Dragon Corp.” He muttered, glaring at it as if he could set fire to the paper with just his eyes.

That damnable company. The one that, after twenty years of partnership, had revealed everything that Thror Durinson had done to keep Erebor Inc. afloat, had destroyed everything that his family had built. And at the top was that horrible, horrible _lizard_ of a man, the one with the voice as sweet as honey and the kind eyes, who would just as soon stab you in the back as be a loyal friend.

Smaug Drake. The reason all of this had happened.

Thorin would never forgive him for what he did.

And he would never forget it, either.

It was at that time that Thorin realized that Thranduil was still talking.

“... their new building in Edinburgh, and funnily enough, they actually requested that _you_ personally work on the design.”

The architect snapped his head up, staring at his boss with wide eyes. “Wh... What?”

“I know, I was surprised to hear it too. However, I’m not one to dispute a client’s order, so I’m going to have you get working on it straight away. You’re familiar with the area, of course, so I’m sure you can make something that won’t stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Of course.” _I will design the fucking Tour Montparnasse of Edinburgh for those assholes._

Thranduil smiled, standing up and walking around his desk. "Is there anything else you would like to discuss?"

_I hate you and your stupid ass-face. Also your office looks like it belongs to Oberon, King of the Fairies._ "No, I believe we're good here." Thorin replied diplomatically, shaking his boss' hand and getting out of the chair.

"Good. Well, then, thank you once again for coming in, Mr. Durinson."

"My pleasure." _You suck. Kili is better company than you are._

Thorin sighed quietly once the door was shut behind him, following Aithwen to his new work station.

_Fucking frog-eating asshat. I swear, if we didn't need the money to pay back the investors..._

The moment that he sat down at his desk, the architect's phone began to buzz in his pocket. Thorin sighed once more, digging it out of his pocket and turning it on.

**From: Bofur**

_The date's all set up! Tomorrow night at Beorn’s Kitchen. Be there at seven o'clock sharp. Wear a blue tie. Good luck! :) :) :)_

The Scotsman sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off a headache. Shit, he'd forgotten all _about_ the stupid date!

Well, at least he might be able to forget about the adorable little man in the red jumper.

Wait... Did he even _own_ a blue tie?

* * *

 

Bilbo sighed, drumming his fingers against the keyboard idly.

If there was one thing he hated, it was writer's block. Thankfully he didn't get it very often, but when he did it was _awful_.

This particular bout had seemed to come out of nowhere, too. Three days earlier, he had been on a bit of a roll, the pages practically writing themselves as he took Alais and her partner, an intrepid reporter by the name of Diego, through the Amazon Rain Forest, pursued by agents of a hostile foreign government (which was a fictional detail he had added to make things interesting, although with what his mother had said on the phone, he was no longer sure if it could be considered a deviation from her stories), and then... nothing. For some inexplicable reason, he couldn't bring himself to write anymore, despite the fact that he _knew_ what he wanted to happen, the words were _there_ in his mind, but he couldn't make his fingers move when he placed them on the keyboard.

It frustrated him beyond belief, especially since he couldn't figure out why it was happening. What had happened in the past three days to make him lose his motivation like this?

Suddenly, the image of a pair of intense, bright blue eyes appeared before his mind's eye unbidden, making his cheeks flush red.

_Goddammit, no! Don't even_ think _about thinking about him like that, it won't happen!_

Which was probably true, at least in Bilbo's mind. Thorin Durinson was utterly _gorgeous_ (if a bit rude), and no doubt already had an equally gorgeous partner to go home to. Why would a man like that want a chubby, somewhat sarcastic little man with a fondness for knitted jumpers?

Why would a man like Thorin Durinson want a man like Bilbo Baggins?

He paused, a thought coming to him.

Durinson... Where had he heard that name before?

Finding himself quite curious about the matter, the writer opened up his Internet browser, clicking on the Google search bar and starting to type in the name. By the time he reached the _i_ , the top suggestion was the name _Durinson_ , with over three hundred thousand results. Bilbo clicked on it, and saw that the first link led to an article titled “The Secret Deals of Thror Durinson: How One Man’s Greed Lead to the End of a Corporate Giant”.

_What on earth...?_

The writer clicked the link, skimming the rather dry-looking article. Apparently, Thror Durinson, father of Thrain Durinson and grandfather of Thorin, Frerin, and Dis Durinson, had passed away about three months ago, leaving his company to his eldest grandson. However, barely a week before Thorin was set to take over, Erebor Inc.’s partner, Dragon Corp, revealed all of the shady deals Thror had cut to keep Erebor at the top. The company was shut down almost immediately by the government, and several top executives were arrested, including Thorin, apparently, although evidently they couldn’t find any conclusive evidence that he had anything to do with the deals, or even _knew_ about it.

The article went on to talk about how this scandal had rocked the corporate world, but honestly Bilbo really didn’t care about any of that.

Thorin... Thorin had lost so much in such a short time. He’d barely had time between when he’d lost his grandfather and lost the business that his family had owned for his entire life, when he learned all the horrible things that his grandfather had done to make himself richer.

No wonder he seemed so cold. Bilbo couldn’t say he’d be too friendly either after something like that.

“Excuse me.”

The writer looked up, blinking at the red-haired young man who had tapped him on the shoulder. “Yes? Can I help you?”

“Sorry to bother you, but you wouldn’t happen to be Bilbo Baggins, would you?”

“Uh, well, yes. Yes I am.”

The young man grinned, producing a book and a pen out of his bag. “I don’t suppose I could trouble you for an autograph, could I?”

Bilbo smiled politely. “Of course.” He replied, taking the book (the first in the Alais White series, he saw) and the pen and opening it to one of the blank pages in the front. “Who should I make it out to?”

“Ah, um, my... my boyfriend. Legolas. L-E-G-O-L-A-S.”

The young man seemed hesitant, as if he were afraid that Bilbo might say something rather nasty about the fact that he had a boyfriend. The writer smiled at him, hoping to alleviate his fears.

“How kind of you to get this for him!” He remarked cheerfully.

The red-haired man’s eyes widened, but he smiled back, seeming quite relieved.

As he wrote, Bilbo thought that perhaps he should be a bit more public about his sexuality; it wasn’t exactly a _secret_ that he was gay, he’d come out in his first year at Uni, but he hadn’t ever really talked about it in interviews or anything, mostly because no one had ever asked.

“And... there we are!” He said as he finished the _s_ in _Baggins,_ handing the book back to the young man.

The redhead beamed. “Thank you so much! Hopefully this’ll cheer him up, he’s been fighting with his dad a lot lately.”

Bilbo smiled at him once more. “It’s no trouble at all, Mister...?”

“Nainson! Gimli Nainson, sorry.”

The writer chuckled. “Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Gimli.”

Gimli grinned, then looked back at the door to the diner, where a tall, blond man who looked to be a bit younger than him had just come in. The redhead waved at him, sprinting over to him. The blond man, whom Bilbo assumed was Legolas, leaned down a bit, giving Gimli a quick peck on the cheek.

Bilbo couldn’t hear their conversation, but he did see the way Legolas’ face lit up when Gimli gave him the book. He couldn’t help but grin when the taller of the two planted a huge kiss on his boyfriend’s lips.

_Ah, to be young and in love. Wait... I’m not even thirty-two yet, I’m not old!_

Before Bilbo could head down that particular path, though, his phone buzzed on the table, making him jump a bit.

**From: Bofur :)**

_The date’s all set up! Tomorrow night at Beorn’s Kitchen. Be there at seven o’clock sharp. Wear a red tie. Good luck!! :) :) :)_

The writer sighed, running his hand through his hair. With everything that had happened, he’d actually forgotten all about the whole blind date thing.

Oh, well. At least he might be able to forget about those intense blue eyes for a while.

Now, if only he could remember where that tie Frodo had given him was...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes:  
> 1) In this AU, I decided to have Thranduil be from France. Legolas was born in Bath, and Tauriel was adopted from Ireland.  
> 2) For those who don't know, the Tour Montparnasse is the 14th tallest building in the world, and was the tallest skyscraper in France up until 2011. Located in Paris, the building is big, black, and ugly as sin, sticking out like a sore thumb among the stylish Parisian architecture. In fact, it's considered so ugly that buildings over seven stories tall were banned in the city center. It offers one of the most beautiful views of Paris, mostly because it is the only place in the city from which you can't see the Tour Montparnasse. I had the displeasure of seeing this ugly-ass monstrosity several times while I visited Paris, although I never went to the top.  
> 3) I chose to make Gimli's last name Nainson, as that's as far as I got when I traced his family back on the LOTR wiki. As a side note, Thranduil can't stand Gimli (Gimli is a mechanic/locksmith, which Thranduil believes is beneath Legolas. Because Thranduil is a bit of an asshat), but Tauriel, who, by the way, disliked Legolas' last two boyfriends immensely, adores Gimli.  
> Next chapter, we finally get to the blind date!


	5. Blind Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Bilbo finally go on their date. Unfortunately, Thorin is his usual pleasant self. Bilbo isn't exactly the paragon of politeness either.

Bilbo sighed as he passed through the ticket gates. He liked his publishing agent, he really did, but he hated how far away the company was. It was a long, tiresome ride from his flat near Shepherd's Bush Station to New Cross, one that required him to change lines several times, and it was even worse when the meetings were at times that required him to go during rush hour.

 _At least the stations aren’t crowded this time of day_ , he thought to himself as he boarded the train, sitting down in the mostly empty car. His phone buzzed in his pocket.

**From: Bofur :)**

_Almost forgot! The guy that you’re meeting will be wearing a blue tie. Sorry!_

Bilbo rolled his eyes as the train came to a halt, the words “Holland Park” coming over the scratchy intercom. That was Bofur for you; always forgetting the ‘small’ details.

The train doors screeched open, a few people getting off and even fewer getting on. The car was nearly empty now, save for a businessman with a newspaper, an older woman and a small child, and...

“Oh!” Bilbo exclaimed when he saw the man who had just gotten into the car with him. “Good morning!”

Thorin looked over at him, his eyes going wide for a just a second before narrowing as he grabbed onto the rail above the seats, despite the fact that there were plenty of seats available for him to sit down on. Bilbo frowned, but said nothing as the train doors closed. The train started with a jump, and the writer couldn’t help the little chuckle that escaped his throat when Thorin nearly lost his balance. It was rather obvious that the Scotsman wasn’t used to standing in a moving vehicle, despite his attempts to look like he was.

“Y... You know, it’s a lot easier to sit down.” Bilbo said as nonchalantly as possible, glancing up briefly and trying his damndest not to blush like a schoolboy with a crush.

When Thorin didn’t say anything, the writer was sure that he’d managed to make himself look like a complete fool. Suddenly, he felt the seats shift, his eyes widening when he saw the other man sitting in the seat closest to the train door, not looking at Bilbo. For just a moment, Bilbo could have _sworn_ that he saw just a hint of a faint red blush on the handsome man’s face.

 _Well, at least I know that he can hear me_ , Bilbo thought to himself as he dug through his pocket for his phone. However, just as he found it, the train came to a sudden halt, the lights flashing as Bilbo down the seats and right into Thorin, his phone flying out of his hand and smashing against the floor.

As the train stabilized and a voice came over the PA saying that there had been a small problem with the train’s engine, Bilbo rose up, rubbing his head with a groan before freezing in place. Slowly, he looked up at Thorin, feeling himself turn bright red as he realized that he was basically draped over the other man’s lap.

“U... Um... I, uh, I...” He stuttered, desperately wishing to move but finding his limbs unwilling to comply.

Thorin simply stared at him for a moment, swallowing hard before reaching up and quietly grabbing Bilbo’s glasses.

“Your, um, y-your glasses are, uh, crooked...” The Scotsman murmured as he tried to adjust the frames, only managing to make them even more crooked.

“Oh, um, I-I’ll fix it, you don’t, um...” He trailed off, looking away as he grabbed the glasses, his fingers brushing Thorin’s for just a second as the taller man let go of his glasses.

Bilbo swallowed hard, quickly getting out of Thorin’s lap as he fixed his glasses. He tried very hard not to let himself think that the blush on Thorin’s cheeks was anything but a reaction to the awkwardness of the situation.

And he _certainly_ hadn’t felt a conspicuous bump poke him in the arm while he was lying across Thorin’s lap.

The fact that Thorin was now crossing his legs in a manner that didn’t look at _all_ natural proved _nothing._

The writer sighed as he got back into his own seat. He blinked once his vision returned to him, his blood go cold as he saw the mess in front of him.

“Oh, no, no, no...” He whispered in a panicked voice, getting down on his hands and knees and gathering up the pieces of his phone. “No, no, ugh, dammit!”

“Y... You alright?” Thorin asked, crouching down next to him.

“Oh, no, everything is just peachy! How the _fuck_ do you _think_ I’m doing?!”

The older woman, whom up until this point Bilbo had entirely forgotten about, gasped, glaring at the writer in disapproval as she covered the child’s ears.

“Sorry!” Bilbo quickly apologized, sighing as he got up with the remnants of the device and sat down. He quietly slipped them back into his bag, Thorin sitting down next to him just as the train began to move again.

“... Sorry about your phone.”

“It’s...” Bilbo sighed. “It’s fine, I can get another, but still! I _liked_ this phone!”

“Hm. Well, then, perhaps next time ya won’t take out a phone on a moving train without holding on tightly.”

Bilbo paused, slowly turning to Thorin and glaring. “Oh, I’m sorry, _surely_ I must have _known_ that the train would come to a sudden halt, despite the fact that I’ve taken this train hundreds of times while using my phone and _never_ has it happened before!”

The Scotsman gave him a surprised. “Wh- I’m just sayin’ that it pays to be careful!”

“Really, because it _sounds_ like you’re saying that I’m some sort of klutz! Like you’ve never dropped and broken a phone!”

“In fact, I haven’t!”

“Oh, of course not, you’re _far_ too busy trying to keep yourself upright on a moving train and chastising others for things they can’t control!”

“Well, excuse me for tryin’ to help!”

“I’ve had quite enough of your _help_ , thank you!”

The train came to a stop again, announcing their arrival at Notting Hill Gate. Bilbo got up with a huff, storming out of the car.

“Stupid, arrogant, _rude_ Scotsman!” He muttered under his breath as he stomped up the steps.

_And how dare he be so handsome while being such an ass!_

* * *

 

“Are you quite sure?”

“Positive!” Fili confirmed as he hung upside down from the monkey bars.

It was just Frodo and Fili today. Merry had caught a cold, Pippin was at a dentist’s appointment, and Sam was with Rosie, doing... something to do with plants, he hadn’t actually paid attention to whatever Sam had said.

So, of course Fili had decided to say that he believed that his Uncle Thorin was madly and totally in love with Frodo’s Uncle Bilbo.

“I could have sworn that your uncle was _glaring_ at mine.”

“Nah, Uncle Thorin just sort of always looks like he’s glaring. He’s kind of like that one cat. But I can tell that he definitely has a thing for Mr. Bilbo. He got all red and distracted after we left; he only does that when he sees someone he thinks is handsome.”

“That’s kind of weird.”

“Uncle is pretty weird. I love him, but he’s weird as all get out. What about your uncle? Do you think he likes Uncle Thorin?”

Frodo leaned against the jungle gym, lips pursed in thought. “... He does have writer’s block.”

“What does- oof!- What does _that_ have to do with anything?” Fili asked as he landed on the ground, thankfully on his feet rather than his head.

“Well, a couple of years ago, when he was writing the second Alais book, he got writer’s block. When...” Frodo hesitated, swallowing hard before speaking again. “When I asked my mum about it, she said that he couldn’t focus because he liked someone.”

This was actually how Frodo found out that his uncle was gay, and about the existence of homosexuality in general. It had been a rather simple conversation.

_“Mum says you can’t write because you like someone, Uncle.”_

_Bilbo jumped in his seat, blushing profusely. “I- She- Wait, what?!”_

_“She said that you have a crush. Are you going to ask her to be your girlfriend?”_

_Frodo’s uncle hesitated for a moment. “It’s, um... Frodo, I... The, um, person I like is a_ man _.”_

_“Oh. Are you going to ask him to be your boyfriend, then?”_

Come to think of it, he’d never actually found out who the man that Uncle Bilbo liked was.

“Also, yesterday, I heard him complaining about sexy blue-eyed Scotsmen under his breath. I don’t think he knows any other people like that.”

“One, eewwwww. Two, that’s great! So they like each other! Then they’ll go out!”

“I think it’s more complicated than that.” He paused for a moment. “Why d’you think that people talk about the traits of the people they love, anyway?”

“I dunno. My mum says that one of the reasons she fell in love with my dad was cause he could sing like Frankie Valli.”

“... Who the heck is Frankie Valli?”

“I dunno, I think he had something to do with that one movie about the guys from New Jersey.” Fili suddenly groaned. “Ach, I forgot! Uncle has a date tonight!”

Frodo’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”

“Yeah, it’s this thing called a blind date, where you go out with someone you’ve never met and see if you like them.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of that!” The brunet thought for a moment. “Hang on a moment... now that I think about it, my uncle said that he had a date tonight, too! He said it was a blind date!”

Fili’s eyes went wide. “Y... You don’t think...?”

“W-Well, it could be, but there’s, like, eight point three one million people in this city! What are the odds that they be meeting each other tonight!”

The other boy was silent for a moment. “Do you know the name of the place your Uncle is going?”

“Um... Beorn’s Kitchen, I think.”

“Is he supposed to wear a specific color of tie?”

“Red.”

“What’s the name of the guy who set him up on this date?”

“Bofur Broadbeam.”

Fili nodded. “Yup.”

“‘Yup?’”

The blond boy turned to his friend, grinning triumphantly. “Your uncle and my uncle are definitely going on a date tonight!”

“W-Wait, what?”

Fili just grinned at him again before running off towards the football goal.

* * *

 

“You’re sure you’ll be alright?”

Frodo rolled his eyes for what had to be the hundredth time that evening. “ _Yes,_ Uncle Bilbo. It’s just a sleepover at Sam’s house, I’ve been there a thousand times before.”

“Yes, but you’ve never slept over, have you?”

“Well, no, but I’ll be fine! Don’t worry about me, Uncle!”

Bilbo sighed as the elevator door opened on the floor the Gamgees lived on. “Frodo, I’m your guardian. It’s my job to worry about you!”

The boy laughed. “Take a night off, then!”

His uncle rolled his eyes as they approached Hamfast’s flat, Frodo shifting his overnight bag around in his arms as he followed behind him. “It’s not exactly a job you can take a vacation from.”

“Well, I’m sure that you’ll have so much fun on your date, you won’t even think about me!”

Bilbo snorted as he knocked on the door. “Yeah, sure. Only going on it so Bofur’ll leave me be. I doubt I’ll see this guy again.”

“Oh, you might be surprised...”

The writer paused, looking down at his young nephew. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing.”

Bilbo pursed his lips in thought. “You know, I get the distinct feeling there’s something you’re not telling me, my boy.”

“Can’t imagine what you mean, Uncle!” Frodo replied in a singsong voice as Bell opened the door, Samwise shooting out from behind her and nearly tackling Frodo in a hug.

“Samwise! He’s got his hands full, don’t knock him over!” Bell quickly chastised before turning to Bilbo. The woman looked tired as always, although not much else could be expected from a woman with six children, especially since in Bell’s case they ranged in age from the seventeen-year-old Hamson to the three-year-old Marigold.

Privately, Bilbo wondered if she and Hamfast had ever heard of any sort of birth control, something he never dared to ask, as he happened to actually like both of them, and of course Frodo and Sam were practically inseparable, so he’d never do anything to hinder their friendship.

“Sorry about that,” Bell apologized, opening the door all the way and leaning against the frame.

“Oh, it’s fine-!”

Suddenly, there was a blast of loud, punk rock music from inside the flat, followed by a cry from Marigold. Bell rolled her eyes and let out a groan.

“Pardon me for just one moment,” She said sweetly before turning to face the inside of her apartment. “HALFRED GAMGEE! TURN YOUR MUSIC DOWN!”

When there was no reply, Bell sighed.

“Oh, for the love of- HAMSON!”

“WHAT?”

“TELL YOUR BROTHER TO TURN THE MUSIC DOWN!”

“KAY!”

Bilbo could hear the boy’s footsteps, followed by what could only be described as the sound of someone banging on a door.

“OI BRAT! TURN THE MUSIC DOWN, YOU’RE GONNA MAKE THE WHOLE BUILDING DEAF!”

_Not if you and your mother do it first._

Bell groaned as the music was turned down to only a _slightly_ mind numbing level of volume. “Would it _kill_ you to be nice to your brother?”

“You didn’t say I had to!”

“It was _implied_!”

Finally, Bell turned back to Bilbo, an apologetic smile on her face.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s... it’s fine.” The writer replied, suddenly feeling very glad that Frodo was an only child. “A... Anyway, thank you so much for taking Frodo for the night.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble! We love having him here!”

“I don’t!” Someone called from inside the flat.

“ _Halfred!_ ”

“You don’t like anyone!” Yet another person, Daisy if memory served, commented.

“ _Daisy!_ ”

“Well he doesn’t!”

Bell groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Ignore them, please, Frodo.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Mrs. Gamgee, I already do!” Frodo replied before turning to his uncle and hugging him around the waist quickly. “Bye, Uncle Bilbo! Have fun on your date!”

Before Bilbo even had time to react, Frodo had let go, grabbing Sam’s hand and running into the flat.

“G... Goodbye, then...” Bilbo replied quietly, more than a little confused.

He felt like that would be a constant for the rest of the night.

\------------------------------

“Do you think you’ll like him?”

Thorin rolled his eyes for what had to be the hundredth time that evening as he finished tying his tie. “Aren’t you s’posed to be in bed?”

“Not for ten more minutes!” Fili replied cheerfully as he bounced behind his uncle, who was looking for his wallet. “So, do you?”

“I don’t know, Fili. Have you seen-?”

“Your wallet’s on the kitchen counter, brother.” Dis called from the sofa.

Thorin paused, looking over at the place she had specified. Sure enough, there was his wallet.

The architect furrowed his brow, walking over and slipping it into his jacket pocket. “Huh. Strange. I don’t remember leavin’ it there.”

“That’s cause you’re gettin’ to be an old man.”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “I’m not _that_ much older than you, ya know.”

“You’re thirty-four, and Mum’s only twenty-eight.” His nephew commented.

“Six years isn’t that much.” _Well, it kind of is, but not in the grand scheme of things._

“The second World War officially lasted six years.”

The architect paused, slowly turning to his nephew. “Why do ya _know_ that? Aren’t you like, _six years old_?”

Fili shrugged. “I heard it while I was flippin’ through the channels earlier.”

“R... Riiight...” Thorin finally managed to say, making a mental note to see if he could figure out how to work parental controls; there were some things that Fili just didn’t need to see, such as most of the programming on HBO (which Frerin was ‘kind enough’- and by ‘kind enough’, Thorin meant enough of a pompous jerk- to pay for). “Okay, moving on, then... l’see, I’ve got my wallet, my keys, my phone... am I forgettin’ anything?”

“Condoms?” Dis offered, making Thorin splutter in shock.

“DIS!”

“What, you asked!”

“What’s a condom?” Fili asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“Nothing!” Thorin answered hastily before Dis could... well, be Dis. “Nothing, nothing, your mum’s just being silly!”

The boy didn’t look at all convinced, but simply shrugged, skipping off into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

“What the hell was that?!” Thorin hissed as quietly as possible.

“Hey, ya asked if you were forgettin’ anything, and it never hurts to be prepared!”

The architect grit his teeth, letting out a frustrated growl. “First of all, it’s the first date, with a guy I’ve never even met before might I add, and secondly, your son is six!”

“Hey, he has to learn about it eventually!”

“Exactly! Keyword here is _eventually_! As in, not right now, when he’s six and will probably tell everyone in his class!”

Dis rolled her eyes, but threw her hands up in the air in defeat. “Fine, fine, whatever. I’ll be sure to keep it PG.”

“Thank you.”

Just then, there was a sound like the flush of a toilet, followed by the bathroom door opening.

“Uncle Thorin-!”

“Ah-ah. Didja wash your hands?”

Fili froze, then rolled his eyes, stomping back into the bathroom dramatically. Thorin heard the sound of running water, followed by his nephew singing “Happy Birthday” as loudly and as off-key as possible.

“You’re supposed to sing it in your head!” The architect chastised half-heartedly as the song ended and his nephew turned off the faucet.

Fili either didn’t hear that or chose to ignore it, for as soon as he was done washing his hands (which was when they were still a little wet but not dripping), he dashed out of the bathroom, dragging Thorin towards his and Kili’s bedroom.

“Fili-!” Thorin started, making sure to keep his voice down as to not wake an already sleeping Kili. He really didn’t have time to stay until the baby fell back asleep, as per the household rule.

“Sing to me!” The boy whispered as he climbed into bed, surprising his uncle.

“Wh- Ya haven’t wanted me to sing to you in almost a year!”

“Well, now I want ya to! Plleeeeeeaaaaasssse?”

Thorin groaned internally, glancing down at his watch. “Ugh, fine, but just a quick one, alright?”

Fili grinned, snuggling into the covers as Thorin took a seat on the edge of his bed.

“ _My eyes adored you... though I never-!_ ”

“No!” Fili suddenly interjected, surprising Thorin.

“No?”

“That’s Daddy’s song! You can’t sing that! You have to sing _your_ song!”

“... Fili, I don’t _have_ a song.”

“Yes you do! You sang it at Grandpa and Great-Grandpa’s funerals!”

The architect paused, thinking for a moment before realizing what song Fili was talking about. “That one? Ya sure? It’s pretty old, and no one’s really sure what it’s about anymore!”

“It’s pretty! Pleeeeeaaaaassssseeee?”

Thorin rolled his eyes, but smiled. “Alright, alright, settle down.”

The boy grinned at him, settling back into bed.

“ _... Far over the misty mountains cold..._ ”

\---------------------------

Bilbo glanced at his watched yet again, starting to feel more than a little irritated.

Twenty minutes. He’d been waiting for over _twenty_ minutes since the date was supposed to begin (he’d arrived ten minutes early), and not one person wearing a blue tie had shown up.

He was starting to think that he’d been stood up.

It wouldn’t be the first time someone had stood him up, of course, but it _would_ be the first time that he’d been stood up by someone he hadn’t even _met._

 _At least the restaurant's pretty nice_ , he thought glumly as he sat on the couch in the lobby just outside of the main restaurant.  It was warm, but not too warm, which was nice on a chilly Autumn evening like this one. There was a sort of calming atmosphere to the place, something about how the lodge-like building felt welcoming and home-like.

Say what you will about his nosiness, Bofur had an eye for great restaurants.

A bell chimed as the door to the restaurant opened again, snapping Bilbo out of his thoughts and making him look over hopefully. His eyes widened when he saw who had just walked in, involuntarily sucking in a breath.

_Oh, hell._

It was totally unfair, really, how hot Thorin was normally, especially considering that the man was a bit of an asshole.

It was even more unfair how hot he was in a suit. Especially with the grey-streaked bangs pulled out of his face, with only a few wisps hanging out. He still had the same old ponytail, of course, but it somehow seemed to complete the look, as if Thorin were some sort of gorgeous villain in an action film or something.

Yes sir, Thorin Durinson could definitely rock a suit. Especially one with a tie the exact color of his eyes, that bright, intense shade of blue-

Suddenly, Bilbo felt his heart stop, the world around him seeming to drain away.

Blue. A blue tie.

_Bofur, I’m going to murder you if I don’t die of humiliation during this date._

It was at that moment that Thorin seemed to finally notice that the writer was there, staring at him like an idiot.

“... Mr. Baggins.” He greeted stiffly after a moment.

“... Uh... Mister...” He swallowed hard, shifting slightly in his seat. “Mr. Durinson.”

Thorin stared at him for a moment, the expression on his face unreadable. The room was completely silent, the air tense and heavy around them.

“S-So! So, um, what are you here for?” Bilbo finally asked, hoping against hope that he was wrong and Thorin was here for something else.

“... If ya must know, I’ve been forced to go on a blind date by one of the most... ah, what’s the word?”

“Persistent?”

“Annoying! Yes, that was the word, one of the most annoying men in the entire world.”

“A... Ah.” The writer managed, the only thought in his head being a constant, repeating stream of the word ‘fuck’. Just his luck he would end up on a date with a man who no doubt was still angry with him for how he’d behaved on the train. Although he wasn’t exactly the paragon of good behavior, either; what sort of person says that someone should be more careful after an accident that could in no way be their fault?

Of course, there was still the chance that Thorin wasn’t his date, and this was all just a huge misunderstanding on his part.

“Excuse me.” Thorin said as he approached the host’s podium, the man there smiling warmly. “I’ve got a reservation under... uh... hold on a second...”

Bilbo watched as the other man quickly slipped his phone out of his pocket, checking it quickly. “Thorin and... B... Bilbo...?”

It was at that moment that Bilbo decided that he was definitely going to kill Bofur if he somehow made it through this date without dying of embarrassment.

\----------------------

In hindsight, Thorin should have known that he was fucked when Bofur sent him the name of the reservation in an email titled “Do NOT open this until you arrive at the restaurant”.

Especially since when he had opened it on the cab ride there, this was all it said: “You opened this before you got to the restaurant, didn’t you? Shame on you, Oakenshield!”

He’d actually had to call the toymaker to get him to send him the name, as well as promising him a hundred times not to open it before he got there (and a box of Godiva chocolates).

He supposed it wasn’t really Bofur’s fault. After all, he couldn’t have known about Thorin’s hopeless crush on Bilbo, unless Dis had told him. However, that was unlikely, since, at least as far as he knew, Bofur and his sister had never actually met.

He also couldn’t have known about the incident on the train earlier, seeing as Thorin had told no one about it, and he sincerely doubted that the writer told Bofur about it, because Bofur, of course, was terrible at lying, and would probably have spilled the beans about who his mystery date was.

And then Thorin would be all alone, stood up on yet another date.

But, of course, that hadn’t happened, and now Thorin was stuck on a date with the very same man he’d managed to completely offend that very morning- completely on accident, by the way.

A man who seemed to be refusing to look at him at all, save for quick, furtive glances over the top of his menu.

_Say something, dammit! You’re already here, and it won’t do any good to just sit in silence!_

“... S... So, uh, did... didja ever get your phone fixed?”

This seemed to surprise the other man, who looked up at him with wide eyes from behind the menu for just a moment before looking back down.

“Um, well, I... It’s sort of, um, completely and totally busted, so I think that fixing it is out of the question.”

“A-Ah, um, of course. Then, um, I suppose you’re going to have to get a new one, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess. Lucky that I’m due for an upgrade, though. Phones are expensive nowadays.”

“Hm. Like you couldn’t afford it.”

Bilbo paused, giving Thorin a strange look over the top of his menu. “I suppose I could. Actually, I was on my way to my publisher when we met on the Tube.”

Thorin felt himself flush, remembering the ‘incident’ earlier.

How Bilbo had basically fallen into his lap. The way his eyes had gotten all wide, how his face had gotten so red, how his glasses had become askew.

The look on his face when Thorin had tried to fix them.

To an onlooker, the scene might have looked... well, romantic.

“Hello? You still there?”

The architect nearly jumped out of his skin. “O-Oh, uh, I, I uh, yes, sorry, just... um... how did that go?”

Bilbo sighed. “Well, fine, I suppose. Would’ve gone better if I’d had more than a couple new chapters to show.”

“Oh, have you not had time to write?”

“W... Well, no, I just... ah... I’ve just had a bit of writer’s block lately, that’s all. I’m sure it’ll pass.”

“Hm. I hope so. Wouldn’t want the release date pushed back again, would we?”

Bilbo grinned at him, still a little tense but seeming to relax a bit. “No, definitely not, I think poor old Radagast- my publisher- would finally keel over from stress!”

“Ha! He sounds like Balin! Poor old man was in charge of PR back when...”

\---------------------------------

“... and all she said was ‘Many things, Bilbo. So many things.’ And then she just hung up on me!”

Thorin laughed, shaking his head. “Ah, she sounds like my sister. Now there’s something I hoped I’d never have to say!”

“Really? I’ve met your sister, she seems perfectly lovely!”

“Heh, well that’s probably cause ya don’t live with her!”

The writer made a sound that was half a snort and half a guffaw, covering his mouth in order to stifle his laughter for what had to be the tenth time that evening.

Much to his surprise, the date had actually gone rather well, once they’d gotten past the awkwardness and the tension left over from the incident on the train that morning. Sure, Thorin still seemed a bit closed off, but Bilbo had found that, behind the cold, somewhat arrogant exterior, was a genuinely interesting fellow, one with a witty, if rather dry, sense of humor, and genuinely cared about his family, even if he did complain about them quite a lot (especially Frerin, whom he confirmed probably would let Fili run wild if the boy were to be put under his watch). And sure, there had been some rather awkward lulls in the conversation- especially whenever the conversation had veered towards the topic of Thorin’s family’s business- but luckily they had been far and few between, and for the most part they had been able to flow from topic to topic almost seamlessly.

And yet...

And yet the writer still had the feeling that Thorin didn’t really... well, like him. Sure, he seemed to be enjoying himself, but there was just something about how the architect that seemed tense, hesitant, and it sort of made Bilbo think that perhaps, even if he was having a good time, Thorin wouldn’t be in any sort of hurry to ask the writer on another date.

 _At least I know that he’s not a_ complete _douchebag_ , he thought, hoping he didn’t look as resigned as he felt.

“Your check, sirs.” Their server said, interrupting Bilbo’s train of thought as he placed the bill on the table.

“Ah, thank y-!” The writer started as he reached for the check, only to find that he wasn’t the only one who had done so.

Thorin stared at him with what could only be bemusement, though Bilbo was sure that he was giving the architect the same sort of look. Neither of them moved their hands away from the bill, instead simply watching each other, waiting for the other to make a move or say something.

“I’ll... I’ll just leave you to it...” Their waiter finally said, clearly able to sense the tension between them.

“... I can pay, you know.” Bilbo offered after a moment, giving Thorin his warmest, most comforting smile in the hopes that the other man might surrender the check to the writer.

“No, I’ll pay.” The architect insisted firmly, his blue eyes intense and unwavering in their gaze, which was probably closer to a stern glare at this point.

“R... Really, it’s no trouble-!” He tried.

“I said I’ll pay.” Thorin repeated, his voice almost a growl as his eyes narrowed and his gaze became a true glare.

Silently, the writer relinquished the bill, his own eyes becoming wide before narrowing as he watched the other man open the check, seeing the slight look of panic cross his features as he scanned the receipt.

“Still want to pay?” He asked snarkily, leaning back slightly in his chair and crossing his arms.

“Yes.” Thorin snapped, sounding more than just a tad bit irritated. “I may not have a few millions in royalties from three bestsellers, but I’m not exactly destitute.”

“Wh- I never said anything of the sort!” Bilbo protested.

Thorin laughed humorlessly. “Like ya had to. I know an Armani suit when I see one.”

“Y- You-!” The writer grit his teeth, sitting up and glaring angrily at the other man. “Are you this much of an ass to everyone, or is there something about me specifically that just sets you off?”

This seemed to surprise the architect, who looked up from rooting around in his wallet with wide eyes. “Wh- I’ve been nothing but a gentleman this entire time!”

“A gentle-! Look, man, I don’t know where you got the idea that gentlemen go around calling people who’ve just lost their phones due to an accident that was entirely out of their control clumsy-!”

“Are you still on about that?! Seriously?! Look, mate, I’m sorry about your phone, really, but I never once called ya clumsy-!”

“Oh, but you damn well implied it, didn’t you?!”

“You-! C’mon, now, don’t ya think you’re readin’ too far into things? I would think that someone in your business would have to grow a pretty thick skin-!”

“Oh, so now you’re saying that I’m some sort of delicate flower?”

“Wh- Stop- Stop puttin’ words in my mouth!”

“Says the man who was saying I called him destitute just a moment ago!”

Before Thorin could reply to that, Bilbo saw their waiter approaching their table. With a huff, he stood up, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair and putting it on.

“You know what? Go ahead and pay, if that’s what you really want! I’m sure you and your pride can more than afford it!”

With that, the writer stormed off, only vaguely aware of Thorin calling his name as he headed towards the exit.

“Have a nice night!” The hostess on duty said cheerfully as Bilbo pushed through the doors.

“Yeah, you too.” He muttered as he walked out of the building, gritting his teeth as a sudden, chilly gust blew past him. The temperature seemed to have plummeted drastically while he was inside Beorn’s Kitchen, the cold air perfectly matching Bilbo’s current emotional state. He quickly stuck his hands inside his jacket pockets, briskly walking towards the crosswalk.

“Bilbo! Bilbo, please, wait!”

The writer rolled his eyes, trying to convince himself that the fact that his face felt warm had nothing to do with Thorin and everything to do with the fact that it was fucking freezing outside.

“Will you _please_ just leave me be? I think you’ve made it rather clear that you don’t like me!” Bilbo snapped, throwing a quick glare at the other man over his shoulder.

Thorin sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck, and if Bilbo didn’t know better he would think that the architect looked rather sheepish.

“L... Look, I realize that I’ve been kind of an asshat to ya-!”

Bilbo scoffed loudly. “Ha! ‘Kind of’?! Try ‘A complete and total douchebag’!”

“Wh- Hey! I am _not_ a douchebag!”

“Are too! A-And an arrogant one, to boot!” Bilbo replied, wishing desperately for the damn light to change so he could get away from this conversation.

He heard Thorin groan in frustration. “Y-Ya, ugh, ya know, I’m tryin’ to apologize here!”

“Oh, and you’re doing just a spectacular job of it, really!” Bilbo snapped, finally turning to glare at the other man properly. “You know something? I really was having a great time tonight!”

This seemed to shock Thorin, whose eyes became as wide as saucers. “W... Wait, really?”

“Yes, in fact, I was! Better than I had thought I would! But apparently, you’re too proud to realize that I was simply offering to pay because it’s considered polite to at least offer! I would have been fine with you paying if you had simply been a bit nicer about it!”

Now Thorin looked completely ashamed. “O... Oh. I, er, um...”

Bilbo rolled his eyes, turning away and stepping towards the street. “Oh, whatever! Goodnight and _goodby_ -!”

There was a sudden, deafening honk, and Bilbo realized too late that he hadn’t looked before walking. He froze in sheer terror, only able to watch as bright lights barrelled towards him and listen as tires screeched uselessly-!

“Bilbo!”

Suddenly, the writer felt a strong, large hand grab his arm and jerk him back, getting him out of the street just as the car that had been about to hit him roared past. Bilbo was only vaguely aware of the car’s driver screaming obscenities at him, too focused on the fact that, one, he had nearly just died, two, Thorin had been the one to save him from that fate, and three, said man now was holding him tightly in his arms. The writer felt himself blush all the way up to the roots of his hair, only able to stand in shocked silence and listen to Thorin’s wildly beating heart.

“Y... You can let go...” Bilbo mumbled almost silently.

Thorin loosened his grip, but only slightly, as if he were afraid that the other man would fall back into the street the moment he let go. For a moment, they were both silent, the architect staring at Bilbo intently. Suddenly, his hand shot up towards Bilbo’s face, grabbing his glasses, which Bilbo realized were crooked for the second time that day.

“Your, um, your glasses...”

The writer snickered weakly, leaning against the other man’s chest.

“U... Uh...”

“Th... Thanks.” Bilbo muttered, stand up straight and smiling weakly at Thorin. “N... Now can you please let go of me?”

“O-Oh.” The architect quickly moved back, finally releasing the smaller man. “Uh, um, sorry.”

“It’s... it’s fine.” The writer replied, trying not to blush like a lovestruck schoolboy.

“S... So, um, then, I s’pose that you’ll want to be goin’ home now.”

“Oh, well, um, yes. I, um, I suppose you will too.”

“Y... Yeah, probably should.” He stuck out his hand, and Bilbo shook it firmly. “G... Goodnight, Bilbo.”

“Goodnight, Thorin.”

With that, the two parted, the road finally clear enough to cross.

Bilbo had to try very hard to keep himself from looking back.

 

****  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here I am, nearly one month later, with a new chapter!  
> ... Honestly, this took as long as it did because I'm a wimp and had trouble writing the awkward scenes.

**Author's Note:**

> Whilst in London, I had the opportunity to see the first Hobbit film in its entirety. I also saw London. Ideas happened. Fluffy ones. I posted this on tumblr and got a pretty good reaction, so what better work for my first on AO3?


End file.
